Nurturing
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: She laughed at his jokes and looked after him. She was beautiful and kind and Bae adored her. … she was also seventeen, and off-limits.
1. Part One

**Pairing:** Rumbelle. Mentions of Red Cricket and probably of Mad Swan cause… reasons.

**Summary:** She laughed at his jokes and looked after him. She was beautiful and kind and Bae adored her.

… she was also seventeen, and off-limits.

**Rating:** NC-17 (I though I'd mix it up, step away from my comfort zone).

**Dedication:** To Bad-Faery who has written some of my favourite things on Earth.

Part One of Three, the last to be posted on August 22nd.

* * *

When his lawyer had finally confirmed that the custody battle was over and he had won he hadn't been able to believe it at first. It had been a long process, extremely distasteful and that had only cemented his belief that he had been utterly right to divorce his former wife, Margo. They had gotten hitched at a young age, when he had had nothing to his name but his fahter's pawn shop and all his debts. She had quickly grown out of her romantic fondness for their relative poverty and his struggles to obtain his law degree and had quickly become disenchanted with her life, with her choices and, most of all, with him. Their marriage had quickly disintegrated after that, Margo calling him every name on the book before storming out and disappearing for fifteen years, sighing the divorce papers before vanishing.

Years passed and managed to fin success at last, his particular talent for deal—making enabling him to make the most of a lucky break, and soon enough found wealth and comfort, owning two thirds of the town and all of its real power. Margo had been quick to come back, contrite at first, wanting to take another shot at their relationship, talking about wishing to see if the old flame still burned. He hadn't believed her at first but he had become, by his own hand, such a pariah in quaint little Storybrooke that it had felt nice having someone to talk to, who looked at him with no revulsion or fear. One night, after one too many shorts of Johnnie Walker, he had made the crucial mistake or going to bed with her, more out of urge than any significant affection. She had quickly shown her colours when he had professed their reconciliation to be a mistake. She wanted his money, and if she couldn't get it the easy way she'd get it the hard way, through a divorce.

He had taken precautions, though, a long time ago, and he had made it clear that getting a penny out of him was out of the question.

He had been wrong.

Months after their tryst, when he had all but forgotten about it, Margo had announced she was pregnant. She had known of his deep desire to be a parent, so she had been quick to tell him she'd never let him see the child unless he paid.

He had refused at first, and she had disappeared again, this time with something he deemed as his. He had tracked her down, and by the time he had caught up with her the child, who she had named "Baby Boy" for lack of interest, had been born. What followed had been a vicious battle for parental rights, Margot rejecting many generous offers of a monetary settlement in exchange for her signing her parental rights away. He had been torn for months between giving up everything he had built with his own hands and never seeing his boy, not knowing if he was hungry, or cold, or in need of something. Margot had never struck him as a potential good mother, and she hadn't ever seemed to care for the child.

So he had dug everything there was to dig about his wife, every sordid detail, every weakness. And with those small, powerful weapons he had finally forced her to sign both the divorce papers and a the necessary documentation to ensure she'd never have power over his son again. The moment the child had been delivered to him, small for a kid of almost two and very quiet he had known he'd always loved him, and that he had been worth all the effort. His boy was precious, the best thing he'd ever done.

He was not just a Baby Boy, so he had quickly renamed him Baden, or Bae for short. Precious little Bae.

He had known being a parent would take some getting used to. He had read the books, he had prepared his house and his life for the introduction of Bae in it, but he had known that it'd still be difficult. He was not young but in this mid-forties, which had been why he had been rather sceptic about Margot being pregnant at first, since she was but a year younger. He didn't have the stamina a younger parent would, nor the support. He had no family, and no close friends. So he had made sure to have a good paediatrician, an excellent cook and a top-of-the-line nanny to help him.

Thought the paediatrician had stuck, the cook had lasted but a month, and the nanny even less. Bae had taken an immediate dislike to the woman, a very prim Englishwoman called Mrs Prant, efficient and highly qualified but not very warm. He had gone over many more nannies after that, putting up with the cook who couldn't seem to make anything Bae wanted to eat simply cause he had been terrified to be left alone with his wee lad, because Bae didn't seem to like him at all. Nothing he did calmed the child, nothing he offered he'd eat. He wouldn't even talk to him, or to anyone else, but would babble alone when he couldn't see his father hovering outside his bedroom. The paediatrician and child psychologist had both pronounced Bae to be a healthy, normal child, so he knew the fault lay with him.

After the sixth nanny, another highly-qualified good for nothing, had failed to even remotely connect with Baden, much less put him to sleep or feed him properly, he had fired the cook too, tired of unhelpful strangers in his home. And thus he found himself one day alone, sleep-deprived and with a wailing baby boy who refused to eat most of the time, would constantly take his clothes off when unsupervised and couldn't manage to be entertained at all.

The few people who didn't outright hate him were hardly helpful. Ruby, his usual waitress at Granny's, would go on and on about a friend of hers with some sort of magic touch… As if a teenager could be the solution to his problems. His on-again, off-again psychologist, the spineless Dr Hopper, had recommended a patient of his, and he had curtly replied that what his son needed was not some nutjob, thank you very much.

But he knew the situation could not last, and so he wondered constantly about what to do, and more specifically, what he was clearly doing wrong. In the meantime he was forced to take Bae with him almost everywhere, which was putting a damper on his reputation as the most feared man in town. Finally, one day, things had come to a standstill: Mayor Mills had decided to call a council meeting to discuss the purchase of a considerable patch of his land and he needed to be there. The meeting was sudden, and he could bet Regina, the bitch, had done it on purpose, to force him to appear at City Hall with a wailing, screaming infant, thus losing any sort of respect in the eyes of the council members. With no other choice he took a deep breath and phoned Dr Hopper to get the phone number of the patient he had recommended as a nanny. He dialled the number seconds later, dispensing with the pleasantries when he heard a soft, lilting feminine voice over the phone. He tried rocking Bae to quiet him down so the first impression the temporary nanny would have wouldn't be too bad, but it didn't seem to work. Finally he heard the doorbell and all but shoved poor Bae into the petit woman's arms before giving her a list of important phone numbers, some quip about food in the fridge and then he was out the door and into his Cadillac, speeding in a way that made him glad the local police force was comprised of one man who couldn't possibly be everywhere at once.

The meeting dragged on and on, and his patience was stretched to the limit. Regina smiled from her seat, noticing his slight fidgeting and making comments about how nice it was to see him out and about without his "boisterous little boy" in tow for once. He bit back snarls and snarky comments that would only serve to prolong the torture, choosing for once to take the high road in hopes of getting home as soon as possible. But the hours dragged on and on, and by the time he managed to get out of the Town Hall it was close to eleven when he got back into his car and sped home. He fumbled with the keys, ears straining to catch the all-too-familiar sounds of Bae's powerful screeching and, not picking anything, panicked. He stumbled into the foyer with little grace, turning towards the living-room and finding it empty, as the rest of the main floor. With his leg protesting loudly he took the stairs two at a time, quickly approaching his son's bedroom door, which was open. He heard the humming before he saw them: the woman was sitting on the rocking chair, her arms full of his little boy, who was cuddling against her left shoulder, sound asleep, his small arms curled about her neck and his face buried in her wavy brunette hair. She was the one humming, a lullaby with no lyrics and the sound was warm and soothing, as was the gentle hand stroking Bae's back and combing through his floofy hair, of which he had plenty. Bae so far hated haircuts.

He took a closer look at the miraculous scene, taking in the woman's soft, pretty dark rose dress and her cream tights, noticing her plain jewellery and her scuffed boots. She had her eyes closed but opened them when his cane accidentally thumped against the doorframe. Her impossibly-blue eyes found him with ease and a smile bloomed on her lips. She carefully stood up, humming all along as she placed the practically-catatonic Bae in his crib, without him even stirring. She tucked him in with care and ease and then made her way out of the room, taking a baby monitor with her and gesturing for them to move away from the room before speaking. He followed her downstairs, dumbstruck and still confused by the absence of constant wailing in his house. She motioned for him to sit in a cushioned chair and then went to the kitchen, bringing back with her a tea train with two steaming cups and some sort of teacakes.

"I thought you might be hungry, since the meeting took so long. I hope you like faciliers, they are my favourite and I baked them this afternoon, so they are fresh and moist"

She smiled before adding some sugar to her tea and stirring, letting him collect his thoughts. He scrambled for anything to say, noticing with embarrassment he didn't even know her name.

"I hope Bae wasn't too much trouble" he finally mumbled, adding some lemon to his own tea before taking a sip. It was wonderful. He let his eyes roam over her, noticing everything from her petite but perfectly-proportioned frame to the pleasing softness of her creamy skin. He shook himself, chalking the sudden flair of attraction to his life of celibacy.

"Oh, no, he was an angel. We played with blocks, I told him a story, bathed him and rocked him a bit to get him to sleep. No worries at all"

She sounded sincere, but she couldn't be. He knew Bae, and that didn't sound at all like him. Maybe she had given his little boy something to make him sleep, and if such was the case he'd make her pay for drugging his two-year-old. Pay in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. He was about to start drilling her when the phone rang, loud throughout the house, and the baby monitor soon was loudly transmitting Bae's anguished cries. Gold all but pounced on the phone, almost losing his composure when he heard the mayor's sugary sweet voice on the other end. He all but hang up on her after answering some irrelevant and unimportant questions about what had been discussed only minutes before and then sprinted back upstairs. He reached Baden's bedroom in time to see him latch onto the nanny's neck, hiccupping against her shoulder as she bounced him up and down gently, whispering in soothing tones.

"Shh, darling, everything's fine, go to sleep" she whispered into his tiny ear, her voice a caress. Bae's hiccups turned into gentle sniffles and then to quiet snores, his eyes shutting and his grip on her relaxing. When it was clear he was again sound asleep she easily transferred him back to his crib, smoothing down a tuft of his hair and tucking him in again, a smile on her face. She exited to room quietly, going back to the living room and leaving Gold to follow her around like a puppy, sighing when she sat back down.

"Well, that was a close call" she said, smiling "I hope whoever was at the phone will think twice about calling so late again" she looked at her watch and frowned "Which reminds me, Mr Gold, I have to go. Tomorrow is a school day, after all"

Gold looked at her confusedly. Maybe she was a teacher at the local school? She looked a bit young to be out of college, but it was a possibility.

"I'm sorry, dearie, I won't keep you"

He proceeded to pay her for her trouble, a sum he thought fair but that she protested was too much, and bid her a good night, closing the door behind her and shaking his head in wonder. The house was quiet and he didn't have toys to pick or a mess to clean. It was a small wonder and it left him befuddled. He was still feeling like that after dropping Bae reluctantly in day-care the morning after, a temporary sort of solution, since the centre was only open till four which left him unable to conduct business in the afternoon unless he took his boy with him. Somehow collecting the rent with a wriggling child in his arms was not an ideal situation. He met Hopper at the dinner, trying and failing to get Ruby to notice him, busy as she was with the early morning rush.

"So, how did Belle work out, Mr Gold?" he enquired, never quite meeting his eyes. Spineless little man, but at least good for something, namely giving him the name of the person he had left his precious boy alone with for hours.

"She was very good" he admitted "Better than expected, actually"

The psychologist beamed, pleased that he had been able to help.

"Oh, yes, Belle is very responsible. Top of her class, likely to be valedictorian when she graduates. And she has a magic touch with children"

Gold almost spat the mouthful of coffee he had ingested in his surprise. Class? Valedictorian?

It couldn't be.

He hadn't left his child alone with some teenager all evening.

A teenager who needed a shrink.

And he had certainly not let his eyes rest over the soft curves of a teenager's body. He hadn't. It wasn't possible.

"So, you'll take her into account again sometime? I know she could use the money, and she's really a lovely girl"

Yes, lovely. Lovely and young, and out of the question.

"I doubt it. I'm still looking for a more permanent arrangement and I doubt she'd be interested. Too much for a girl her age to handle, I'm sure"

He saw the beginnings of an objection form in the good doctor's mind so he quickly exited the dinner, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. He'd get another nanny, qualified and experienced and above all things out of High School, and he'd get his life in order.

But there were no nannies left in Storybrooke. He had tried them all, and had even tried to tempt some outsiders with a good salary and a good rental deal on one of his many properties. But few answered the called, and non stayed, either cause they got fed up with Bae or Gold got fed up with them. He made do with the day-care centre, acutely aware that he was losing sleep dealing with Bae and he wouldn't be able to keep up with work and Bae. His son was clearly miserable as well, eating little, throwing tantrums and speaking barely a word. He worried.

He was a desperate soul, so he shoved all doubts and apprehensions aside and called Belle French. He did his research before, though, uncovering everything there was to know about her. The florist's daughter, whose mother had died when she was five and who had moved away from home at fifteen, thanks to her mother's inheritance. There was nothing sinister behind such an unexpected move. Her father had simply re-married a widower with three kids and cohabitation had soon become an issue. Belle had not been able to adapt her subdued, quiet, independent lifestyle, so she had taken enough money out of her trust to rent a tiny attic apartment, saving what she could by living a frugal life and taking odd jobs, mainly babysitting and part time stuff, and catching many breaks from her tenant, an elderly woman who seemed to take on a vague grandmotherly role in the girl's life. Her father helped her in any way he could, but he was not the cleverest person where money was concerned and he had enough trouble supporting his new family. As far as everyone knew their relationship was not very close, but still cordial and loving, having lunch together every Sunday and taking time during the week for each other. She got along with her step-mother, but there was no real affection there, only polite interest, and her step-siblings were not very interested in forming any sort of bond.

She seemed content, and responsible, and Gold was running out of reasons why not to hire her. Would she even want a more permanent arrangement? Was she qualified to take care of a child for more than a few hours? He highly doubted it. She might look to be more responsible than other young people her age, but she was still too green for his tastes. Still, when the day-care centre decided not to open on Saturday, and he needed to personally oversee some small but urgent business details dealing with new real state acquisitions, he found himself again dialling Miss French's number, sighing in relief when she confirmed that yes, she was available all day and she'd be delighted to look after Bae.

This time, when she arrived, he didn't simply register her presence and leave. He looked her over, noticing the tale-tell sings of her youth, which hadn't been as visible at night. The roundness of her face, the way it was devoid of make-up, the way she seemed to be all limbs, her gait slightly awkward. She listened attentively to his instructions before practically shoving him out the door, so reluctant he was to leave. Spending the day outside with no child felt strange, but oddly pleasant. He felt like a horrible parent, basking in the absence of his son, but he really was at his wit's end. He was worried sick he was irreparably harming Baden in some way, and he needed the time away to think, properly think.

Returning home felt both like a blessing and a curse, and again the guilt gnawed at him, settling in the pit of his stomach. He found Bae and Miss French in the living-room, his boy watching cartoons and, miracle of miracles, nibbling at a slice of apple and Belle reading, one of her hands absentmindedly petting the boy's hair as she watched the roadrunner pull a fast one on the Coyote.

"Poor Coyote. I really wish he'd catch the roadrunner. Isn't that right, Bae?" Belle asked, a smile on her face. Bae nodded solemnly, his eyes turning to look at the girl with unabashed adoration before going back to the screen. Gold cleared his throat, vaguely disappointed when the teen on his couch didn't startle in surprise. She did, however, guiltily remove her shoeless feet from the furniture, putting her ballet flats back on.

"Good afternoon, Mr Gold. I hope everything went well" she grabbed Bae by the waist, the kid squealing playfully as she swung him around before perching him on her hip, the movement natural.

"It did, dearie, thank you. And how were things here?" he enquired, trying to let his jealousy not show. There she was, a complete stranger, being on the receiving end of Bae's smiles and affection. Why couldn't the boy connect with him like he had so easily done with her?

"Wonderful. We played, then put the toys away like one always should. Bae helped me cook, and then we had lunch and then apples for dessert. It was a fun day, right darling?"

She looked over at Bae, the softest smile on her lips, and Bae nodded, screeching the word "Fun!" with gusto. Gold's heart warmed seeing his boy grin like a madman, the parent in him relishing in this display of happiness.

"You had no problems feeding him, then? That's unusual"

Belle shook her head.

"He was picky with his food at first, but only till he saw me eat some. Sometimes kids won't eat unless they see someone else do it first. I also discovered he won't eat anything orange, so I let him put aside the carrots for now. He needs to eat more, so we can let it slide for the time being. Some vegetables and a strong dose of fruit and he'll grow big and strong in no time. Strong like a knight"

She directed her last words to the child in her arms. Bae nodded again, his eyes huge as he beheld the girl. The wee lad was besotted, apparently. It decided it for him. Bae clearly wanted Belle, so he would get her for him. She seemed competent and, more importantly, she seemed to click with Bae.

"Miss French, before you go, could I persuade you to have a few words in the living-room? It won't take long" he tried to look welcoming, but he got the impression the little French girl didn't seem to have for him the healthy dose of fear that the rest of the town had.

A pity, really. But, he reasoned, if he was going to have the girl around at all times better if she didn't constantly tremble in his presence or stutter whenever speaking to him.

* * *

It was a dream job, no matter what everyone said. She had never really paid any mind to the rumours in town about Mr Gold, even before he had first called her about his son. She knew people liked to put other people in categories and deny their complexity, like dubbing Leroy the town drunk or Mary Margaret, whom she knew from volunteering at the local hospital, the town slut. Mary Margaret, sweet and tender and so very vanilla even quiet and well-behaved Belle thought of her as a bit boring, was no more the town slut that she was the local party girl.

A close friend, Ruby, was also an example of someone who was unlike the rumours that circulated about her. Though on the surface a wild girl with no other passion than flirting and hooking up, Belle knew that in fact most of what was said about Ruby was untrue, lies spread by young men looking to prove their worth to their friends. So she had never really considered Mr Gold to be the awful ogre everyone said he was. From afar he had always looked lonely, a man who had decided he was better off without people, content with their fear from a distance. He had also seemed fascinating, a worldly man of culture and experience that had somehow decided to stay in their quaint little town, his shop a fascinating array of objects that reeked of history. She had never gone in, not really in a position to be able to afford any of the unique wares, but she had often stopped to look through the glass, and dream about a more stimulating life than the one she lead. Her books had always helped make this bearable, but she had always itched to go into the shop and ask about everything.

When he had called she had been surprised. The whole town knew of Gold's problems with his recently-acquired son, but she had always thought he was too above going to someone like her for help, with or without Archie's recommendation. She had agreed readily, needing the money and curious about meeting the child that had stumped so many nannies. She had barely gotten a greeting from the father before she had found herself alone in the old Queen Anne house with a screaming boy. She hadn't meant to completely fall in love with Bae, taking into account the babysitting gig was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but she had from the moment she had held him in her arms, red in the face from screaming and flailing. She had been puzzled by his unwillingness to be held, but she had refused to give in to his pushing and shoving, recognizing a temper tantrum when she saw one. She had insisted on playing with him, building a towering fortress from blocks to entice him to join in, and he had done so reluctantly. Soon he hadn't minded her presence and had even consented to a warm bath, after which she tucked him close to her body, smiling when he didn't shove her away, merely curled contently against her. He was small, and quiet, but once he had stop rejecting her affections he had seem to crave them, whimpering when she had pulled away for a little bit to use the bathroom and clinging to her the moment she had come back. He had soulful eyes and Belle had tried, really tried, not to fall for them. She had failed.

The father was strangely vulnerable as well. From their first meeting it had been clear that Mr Gold was a man in the brink of exhaustion, lost and terrified beneath a calm, almost snide exterior. She had noticed his fingers trembling as he had sipped the tea she had poured for him that first night and her heart had broken a little, but she hadn't known what to say, even when she had caught him looking comically relieved she had been able to put Bae back to sleep after the phone had rung.

So when he had called again, she had cancelled her plans to go to the Library in order to babysit the little tyke again. And later, when he had offered her permanent post as Bae's nanny in the afternoons and on evenings she had agreed without a second thought, not knowing if she had accepted for Bae or for his haggard-looking father.

She didn't regret it one bit. Gold was aloof but friendly enough, and always eager to discuss Bae, even though he kept his distance when she was with him. Her day with the Golds begun after school, when she'd swing by the Day-care Centre and pick up Bae, ignoring the curious looks from the three gossips who run the establishment. Then some days they'd go grocery shopping, letting Bae reveal little by little what foods he preferred and what things he was willing to try. Then they'd arrive to the salmon-coloured house almost near the forest, and Belle would do her homework after feeding the little tyke. Sometimes they'd bake something, other times she'd clean a bit, encouraging Bae to help, pleased when he eagerly did so. She'd talk to him constantly, usually being rewarded by shy responses from time to time. After homework, if there was time, she'd tell him a story while cooking. She'd serve him his meal and then let him have some fruit for dessert, and it was around that time that Gold usually arrived, looking impeccable and put together, but the moment he greeted Bae, receiving little response from the child, his shoulders would slump, and he'd luck incredibly worn out. He'd greet her politely, enquiring about her day with little interest, and would be a ghost, a shadow, till she tucked Bae into bed and stopped by his study to bid him a good night.

Two months went by like that, and the novelty of her job at Gold's begun to wear off. People, namely kids at school, had stopped asking her questions about it, leaving her alone. She had always been a rather lonely teen, friendly with everyone but close to none of her classmates, with one or two exceptions. She had never known why this distance, but didn't resent it. She had two or three really close friends and for the rest there was the library and, now, Bae. And she had formed a sort of superficial bond with the father. Though Gold didn't frighten her he intimidated her a little, so she had been content to follow his lead and keep a polite distance, curbing her fascination for the man, giving him his space.

But everything changed a Friday morning, around eleven. She was halfway through her English Lit class when the imposing figure of her boss burst into the class, slamming the door open with an impressive flair. His eyes zeroed in on her quickly, making his way to her desk and promptly yanking her out of it.

"Mr Gold, what's wrong?" Belle's voice didn't tremble, but her eyes were huge, as where those of her classmates. Her teacher, bless his soul, made a feeble attempt at stopping Gold from removing his brightest student from class, but the pawnbroker merely snarled something about his rent before storming out, Belle's wrist firmly in his grasp. She struggled to keep up, vaguely impressed by his stamina and his speed, limp and all.

"What happened?" she demanded, her curiosity giving way to worry. Gold's eyes were feral, a panicky glint in them. Finally, once they were safely inside his shiny Cadillac, he spoke.

"Bae's sick. He's got an ear infection and a fever. The doctor prescribed some medicine but he won't go to sleep and he's been crying all night and… and I don't know what to do. He's hurting and I cannot help him"

Belle took a deep breath, her heart going out to the man beside her and tentatively placed a hand above his on the wheel, willing him to calm down.

"It's ok, it's ok" she murmured, using the same soothing tone she usually reserved for the youngest Gold "Let's get back to Bae, alright?"

Gold, looking lost and strangely vulnerable, nodded dumbly and started up the car, driving to the Day-care Centre where he had been forced to leave his son to look for the only thing he seemed to want, if his cries of "Bel, Bel, BEL!" were any indication. When they arrived the horrible hags practically shoved Bae into Belle's arms, and he immediately curled against her, hiding his tear-stained face in her hair.

"Hurt, hurt" he kept saying, and every time he did Gold looked more and more desperate. The car ride to the house seemed to help, as did Belle's gentle stroking of his hair but he was still clearly in pain by the time they were home. She bathed him, insisting the distraught father helped, trying to give him an active role in his son's recovery. Soon enough the ear medicine begun to take effect. She then grabbed some hand towels and soaked them in warm water, folding them and instructing Gold to press them gently against Bae's ears as she held him upright in her arms. She also filled a dropper with warm olive oil and applied a few drops to the child's ears and, soon enough, Bae fell into a fitful sleep. They stayed frozen in place for a long time, she cradling Bae in her arms, sitting in the rocking chair, and he at her feet, looming over the sleeping figure of his son, his arm draped across the back of the chair to keep it from rocking.

"He's alright for now. Hopefully the medicine will work fast on the infection" Belle whispered into Gold's ear, afraid to wake the wee little child. She rose slowly, placing Bae in his cot and reluctantly letting go of him. She then took Gold's hands and pulled him into a standing position, leading him out of the room in spite of his silent protests to remain.

She led him to the kitchen and gently pushed him down so he collapsed on a chair. He looked horrible, clearly sleep-deprived, his eyes bloodshot and his suit rumpled, a five o'clock shadow insinuating itself on his face. She brewed him tea, telling him to drink as many cups as he wished before whipping up a basic ham and cheese omelette and presenting it to him with firm instructions to eat all of it. When he didn't make an attempt to pick up the fork she took his hand on both of hers and pressed the utensil to his palm, closing his fingers around it. Then, before she could even think to stop herself, she ran a hand through his mussed hair, freezing when she realized what she was doing.

"… I'm gonna go check on him. By the time I come down I expect to see you at least halfway done" she instructed with a bit of a stammer, her face going red and her hand quickly snapping back to her side. She looked in on Bae, pleased to see he had fallen into an even deeper sleep, and went back downstairs to find a far more composed Mr Gold polishing off his plate.

"Is he alright?" he asked immediately, tensing up. When she nodded, a reassuring smile on her face, he allowed himself to relax.

"… I apologize for unceremoniously pulling you out of school, Miss French, but I was at my wit's end, and neither the paediatrician nor the cunts at the Day-care Centre were being particularly helpful. I've been up all night and… Well, I panicked. Bae was hurting, and all he seemed to want was you"

He gave her a look that was equal parts envy and wonder, and she blushed under the intensity of his gaze (and a bit at hearing the stoic and elegant Mr Gold curse). She ducked her head, not knowing what to say. Finally, overcoming her embarrassment, she sat down beside him, tentatively reaching for one of his hands.

"Bae doesn't hate you, Mr Gold. He just spends a lot of time with me, and I've had a lot of experience with kids… I used to volunteer at the local orphanage before I moved away from home, and I learned all kinds of helpful things. You're just nervous and stressed and he can sense that. But he'll warm up to you, I promise" she smiled, as gentle and as loving as if he was his son and squeezed his hand before letting go "Maybe we just need him to see we're a team. Don't shy away from him when he's with me"

She stood up, grabbing her forgotten satchel nearby and going to the living-room to start on her homework. She paused by the kitchen door to look at Mr Gold, quelling the strange urge to hug him, knowing how unwelcome such a gesture was likely to be. Silly teenage hormones acting up.

"We'll work it out, Mr Gold. You'll see. And, by the way, you can call me Belle. It'd be less confusing for Bae"

* * *

Things changed after that. For one she became a sort of untouchable person in town, regarded with both suspicion and fear by everyone because, apparently, she had "Property of the Golds" stamped on her forehead. Her teachers looked at her differently and she was pretty sure if she suddenly stood up in the middle of class and announced she had to leave they'd let her, in case Gold needed her. Her classmates thought her a bigger weirdo than before, but she barely took notice of that. Even her dad, when she met him, looked at her with a sort of horrible nervousness. Only her tenant, old Mrs Shoeman, treated her the same, and for that she was grateful.

Not that she saw much of the poor old lady, spending as much time as she was at Mr Gold's. She took up cooking not only for Bae and herself, but also for her boss after realizing he hardly made the effort to prepare anything fancier than a sandwich for himself most days. Her cooking skills, a natural consequence of a life without a mother, were not spectacular, but they got the job done, and her baking soon put some meat into the pawnbroker's bones. He'd make an effort now to cook with them, and to help bathe Bae and sometimes tell him a story while she rocked him to sleep. His gentle brogue seemed to soon do the trick even faster than Belle's lilting voice and the happiness in his face the first time he had put his child to sleep had been heart-breaking.

He had gotten more comfortable with her too, taking more than a basic interest in her life and her plans for the future. She confided that she wished to study History and be a teacher or maybe be a librarian, and hopefully see enough of the world before settling down. One day he had proposed they swung by his shop on the way home from day-care and Bae had lit up inside the store, wanting to touch every single thing, particularly and old football Gold spent most of the visit repairing so they could take it home. Belle had shyly enquired about some of the most exotic trinkets and soon they had found themselves talking animatedly about antiquities and history. Belle had been pleased to not Gold listened to her instead of patronizing her, and argued back when he was in disagreement and it had been the most wonderful, stimulating conversation she had ever had. At the end, when they had bid the Scotsman goodbye, Bae had waved and said "Buhye, papa" and the brunette had thought Gold's face would split from grinning so widely. She was sure no one would believe her if she told them he could smile like that.

Though Bae was much more comfortable with his father he also grew even closer to her. He'd demand to be in her arms often, and would only play with her, and stay close when she did her homework, colouring or watching TV. Gold would snort and mutter something about Baden having a crush, and Belle would laugh and shake her head, calling Bae her "little man", her darling. She had never been a full-time nanny so she hadn't been prepared to get so attached, both to the child and, strangely, to the parent. Gold liked to pretend to be some sort of soulless monster, but it was far from the truth. He was sharp, that much was correct, and incredibly snarky, with the wickedest sense of humour, to the point where she sometimes felt guilty when she laughed at some of his jokes, usually at the expense of someone in town. He was passionate about his shop and his antiques, and less so about his other businesses. His face lit up when she'd ask about some trinket he took home to repair, though he tried to downplay his boyish enthusiasm. He was also devious, and quite proud of it too, and sometimes he'd confide in her about some deal of his, and she'd be torn between scolding him or being impressed.

He'd ask about her social life now and again, but it was a subject he was quick to drop after reassuring himself she had no "suitors". He was obviously terrified that she'd get a more active social life and be unable to properly look after Bae, leaving him all alone with his son, so she tolerated the unsubtle probing with more grace than he deserved. Bae was more direct about it, taking her face in his tiny hands and moving it from side to side.

"No boys" he'd say, very seriously "Only Bae and papa"

"You told him to say that, didn't you?" Belle would mutter, embarrassed. Gold just smiled every time, and she could swear he exchanged conspirational grins with Bae. Something would flutter inside her, and she'd push it down, afraid.

* * *

Gold's life was wonderful. He was finally connecting with his wee lad, his perfect little Bae. One step at a time he got closer and closer to the boy, wining his trust and affection mostly by being led by the hand by the utter and perfect miracle that was his nanny. She was responsible, applied and incredibly fond of Baden, the warm and nurturing presence his boy needed desperately in his life. She was also hell bent on fattening him up for some reason, and he could hardly complain at the notion of having home-cooked meals again. She opened up to him easily, almost naturally, losing little by little all of her adolescent shyness and telling him of her hopes and dreams, her fears and insecurities. It hurt her how little she could connect with people her age, but it hurt her more to pretend she enjoyed the things they did, so she had resigned herself to taking the road less travelled instead of going with the flow. She did have some close friends, and she never seemed lonely, which marvelled him, all her strength, her bravery.

'Her youth' a voice would whisper in his mind 'Let's not forget her youth'

And of course he didn't forget it. Even though Belle was so mature, and so independent, and so…

'Young' the voice would hiss, relentless 'She's so very young'

And he knew that. He could see it in the slight lack of sophistication of her clothes, in the trace of awkwardness that hung about her, though it was never present when she dealt with Bae. And Bae blossomed under her care and affection, becoming more outgoing, less temperamental and, above all, more talkative. He proved to be a good child too, with a great deal of empathy and a gentle spirit. Better than his papa, thankfully. His golden child, his perfect little boy, who would now cuddle close to his father when Belle was not around to cling to… Not that he blamed Bae. He'd chose to cuddle with Belle too if he could.

… which he couldn't. So he didn't.

* * *

He found Belle pale and clearly upset one afternoon, sitting on the sofa and watching Bae play with stuffed animals, and for a moment his heart stopped, because something horrible must have happened. Belle looked shaken, and stared at Bae the way he usually did, like she was clueless about what to do with him.

"Hello" he greeted softly, startling Belle and making her turn her eyes towards his, and he could tell she had been crying. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to panic.

"'lo, papa" Bae greeted with a tiny wave. He ruffled his boy's hair before hovering near the girl, anxious.

"What's happened, Belle?" he kept his tone neutral for Bae's sake, but seeing Belle like that was killing him. She lowered her eyes, and seemed at a loss.

"… I can't make him stop" she finally confessed, her voice small and wavering "I've tried to explain, but he won't stop, and if I insist he gets really upset, so I just… I…" she lifted her eyes to him and he saw her unshed tears "I just don't know what to do. It's wrong, but I don't know how to make him stop"

He looked over at Bae, but the child looked happy, healthy and all around normal. Belle refused to elaborate and he remained in the dark for a few moments until the problem made itself known.

"Play with Bae" the kid tugged on Belle's skirt, trying to grab the girl's attention and waving a stuffed wolf in her direction "Play, mamma"

Oh.

Oh, dear.

"He started today. He'd never said it before, I don't know what changed. Maybe he heard one of the kids at the centre say it. I don't know" Belle's voice was flat, but her hands were trembling "When I told him that I was Belle, and he was supposed to call me that, he insisted on using… that other word. And he got very upset when I asked him not to use it anymore"

"I see" he muttered, dazed. Bae calling Belle his mother was all sorts of wrong, but a part of him lit up at the mere idea, finding it right and perfect. Bae as not his child but their child, as much Belle's as he was his, an unbreakable bond tying him to her forever.

But those thoughts were wrong, because Belle was just being nice and warm to a hopeless old man playing at being a father and she was, above all things, innocent. Naive.

Young.

"Calm down, dearie, you'll scare the child" he took her hands in his, noticing how cold they were "Let's get some tea and leave Bae to his cartoons. He'll be fine in the playpen"

He took Belle to the kitchen and quickly put the kettle on, trying to collect his thoughts at the same time. He didn't know what to do, how to proceed, and so far that had been okay cause Belle had always known what to do. He was being led by the hand by a bloody teenager and he now couldn't handle the fact that she was stumped. He busied himself with retrieving cups, sugar and tea-bags, and as soon as the drinks were ready he sat down beside the nanny, who would not for the life of her look at him in the eye. His mind went down dark, unthinkable paths: she was clearly freaked out. She'd quit, realizing Bae was getting too clingy and she was young and did not want to be tied down to a snotty little kid. She'd quit and Bae would go back to being unhappy and withdrawn, and he'd have no home-cooked meals, or shared smiles during storytelling times, or the sporadic but welcomed brush of a hand against his because no one in Storybrooke touched him except her.

He wanted no one to touch him but her. And that was a problem, but not his most pressing one at the moment.

"Belle…" he started to say, about to beg her to stay with them, but she begun stammering before he could speak more than her name.

"I'm sorry, Mr Gold, so, so sorry! I don't know where Bae got the idea to call me that, but I never encouraged him. I guess he thought that because I am always with him, like the mothers of those kids at the centre, it was okay to call me that. I… I didn't see it coming, and I'm sorry, so sorry…!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders, torn between shaking her to stop her breakdown or hugging her close to comfort her. She was clearly distraught but he had to settle for stroking his thumbs across her skin in a soothing, completely non-threatening way, he hoped.

"Belle, Belle, take a deep breath and calm down. I'm not upset. Now that I think about it I'm not even surprised. I should have seen it coming. I should have known Margot couldn't have possibly been a very nurturing presence in Bae's life, he probably never really bonded with her, she was not the motherly type. Bae loves you, you're the most important person in his life right now" he was surprised to notice his envy was minimal after acknowledging that truth, when before he had felt nothing but visceral jealousy at the mere thought of it "He's too young to understand things, so he jumped to the obvious conclusion. He'll grow out of it, I'm sure, with a bit of encouragement"

He titled her chin up, disregarding the voice that was always yelling "Don't touch the underage nanny" for once, pleased when he saw her smile, relieved that he wasn't upset. It was the first time he took charge in a Bae-related situation and it felt good to be to calm, collected one for a change.

"You're right" she said, her voice full of warm gratitude "But we still have a problem, though. He cannot call me mamma outside this house"

It would be torture enough to hear it inside, Gold thought. Outside would only provoke suspicions, awkwardness and all sort of pernicious rumours. His son and his Belle must be protected.

And by "his Belle" he meant Bae's. Clearly.

"Let's see if we can convince the wee one to be more accommodating, shall we?"

In the end, though Bae didn't understand at all what was wrong about calling Belle "mamma", and why the term did not apply to her (the extent of his argument, consisting of "Bel mamma, Bel mamma!", was quite compelling), he seemed to acquiesce to keeping the word limited to the inside of the house, as their little secret. There was no guarantee he wouldn't slip up, or forget, but it was the best they could do. They ended up watching some nature show on TV, Bae between them gawking at the lions. He yawned, cuddling, as usual, close to Belle.

"Mamma" he whispered dreamily, closing his eyes and extending one hand to grasp his father's thumb "Papa"

'Trouble, this is nothing but trouble'

* * *

Looking back he wondered if he had always wanted Belle. He knew he did now, knowing that denying it was more dangerous that acknowledging it. He remembered the first spark, noticing her loveliness over tea, still more than a bit out of sorts by her prodigious handling of Bae. The attraction had been sharp, but brief, easy to brush off as a normal heterosexual drive, quite simple to disregard. And he had, particularly after learning the girl's age. He was amoral, but certainly not some sort of paedophile.

He hadn't seen any harm in "acquiring" the girl for Bae once it became clear his little boy needed her, and so it had been done. She'd kept her distance, becoming another pretty thing to look at when home, always with a smile and a quiet, happy attitude. Seeing her with Bae had filled him at first with longing for the bond they seemed to share, and he had envied Belle her relationship with Bae more than it was healthy. Then his boy had gotten sick in the middle of the night and he had all but crumbled. He had experienced then the full extent of his little nanny's powers, which apparently didn't work just on Bae. She had soothed away his worries with gentle touches and calming words, taking charge with a sort of quiet strength he had found wondrous, giving him tasks to perform and even feeding him afterwards. Even though her youth visibly clung to her there was something very old and wise about Belle, and it soothed him.

He had started envying Bae's relationship with Belle after that. She was such a nurturing, loving creature, warmth and peace radiating off her in waves. Her cheerful attitude rubbed off on him, vanishing his customary surliness and annoyance at everything and everyone and replacing it with the blooming tendrils of contentment. She loved to listen to him talk about antiques, and got comfortable enough to invade his personal space and even boss him around from time to time. She was not only the healing force in his son's life but a welcomed balm in his, a respite from his self-imposed loneliness, a person he didn't need to merely "tolerate" but that he actually enjoyed a companionship with, for however long it lasted.

He was a man, though, and he couldn't help but look. And Belle was a lovely thing to look at, petite in a way that called to his primitive protective instincts, skin like cream and curves soft and gentle as she was. Her clothing was always proper, nothing like some young girls her age. She favoured retro looks, nothing too elaborate: tea dresses, soft woollen pants and layered tops, but what clothes she had fit her extremely well, the pants wrapping around her legs like a second skin, the tops with their see-through fabrics made modest by the layering, teasing him with what he could not see, and much less touch. Gold like to keep his house fairly warm, the cold not being very good for his knee and also absolutely terrified that Bae would catch a cold, so Belle usually walked around in tank tops or short-sleeved shirts, making no comment about the heat, probably because she had figured out why he favoured it.

Truth was that if he hadn't preferred it before, he certainly did now. She had a blouse of pretty white lace that he particularly adored, with slightly puffy cap sleeves and a surprising plunging neckline. It wrapped itself around her torso like a lover and it allowed Bae to rest his head against her skin when he cuddled close to her, which he seemed to love. The sight of his boy, his seed, resting contentedly against Belle's bosom did sick, unmentionable things to him, things that both enflamed and repulsed him.

She wore no make-up but for a dash of gloss and a hint of mascara when she felt like it. She wore little jewellery too, a simple gold chain and a small pendant dangling from her neck and a golden ring on her right hand. The first time he dreamt of her he showered her with luxury, wrapping anklets of spun gold about her legs and bracelets around her arms, trying and failing to properly clad her in all the riches she deserved, but content with draping her nude, nubile body in as much sparkling gold as she could possibly desire, stroking his fingers over every inch of exposed skin left, his mouth dry as his fingers gently traced the swell of her hips and dipped down, his palm reverently cupping her between her thighs, her body arching up as much as the heavy jewellery allowed. When he had woken up the need to take a cold shower had been almost too much to bear. He hadn't been able to take care of his little problem himself, feeling that there were barriers he should never cross.

Unfortunately for him, or maybe not, Belle was quite fond of touch, and while Bae was usually on the receiving end of most of her gentle caresses she sometimes slipped up and ran a hand through Gold's hair when she found him practically dozing off in a chair by the fire, or rubbed the back of his neck when he found himself angrily berating someone over the phone, usually for daring to call him at home, intruding on his time with Bae. He hadn't known before Belle showed up what an erogenous zone the nape could be, but the moment he had first felt her the pads of her fingers there, her nails gently scratching his skin, he had realized that all his life he had neglected a vital part of himself. The self-restraint he'd have to muster in order not to groan was well worth it, in his opinion.

He wished it was just a sexual thing. The solution would be simple: if he was starved for sex there were things that could be done, even in a sleepy little hamlet like Storybrooke. Arabian Nights was, as far as gentleman's clubs went, classy and understated, and the girls there were not some overdone bimbos, but an evening there had shielded nothing more than two hours of wondering what Belle was doing with Bae, if they were using the building blocks, since Bae favoured those a lot, or maybe blowing bubbles on the front porch, taking into account the mildness of the weather. Imagining Belle's laughter while blowing bubbles did more to his body that whoever was giving it her all on stage right in front of him, and so he never went back, deeming the whole evening an exercise in futility. It wasn't that he craved sex or even sex with Belle as much as he craved her in her entirety, which wasn't really an option for him.

And, as much as he acknowledged and accepted the fact that Belle was off limits to him, he didn't exactly consider it worth his time to object when she, little by little, began spending more and more time with Bae and, by extension, with him. She begun staying past the time they had agreed upon, usually remaining a bit after putting Bae to sleep to have a cup of tea with Gold and talk about everything and nothing. He thought himself painfully obvious during those times, a besotted fool using tea as a way to steal some time with a girl who considered him, at best, a friend. He thanked his lucky stars that she had a good enough relationship with her dad to discard the idea that he might be a father-figure to her.

Then she offered her services on Saturdays so Bae, who clearly disliked the Day-care Centre, could spend some time outside. She'd take him for walks around the little town, mostly the outskirts, knowing how nervous Bae was around new people and wanting him to truly be over calling her "mamma" before exposing him to anyone. They would then swing by Gold's shop around noon and he'd close early, seduced by the opportunity of having lunch with his favourite people. Sometimes he'd play hard to get, mumbling something about too much work just so Belle would grab him by his silk tie and playfully "drag" him out of his backroom. The first time she'd done it she'd been bright red but now the banter came naturally to her and the artless way with which she moved had him entranced.

They'd eat lunch and then set Bae to play a bit and then take a nap, Belle either doing an assignment afterwards or reading contentedly in a chair by a window in his study, a chair he'd never tell her he had moved from the attic just so she could have a place in his personal space and not retire to the living-room and leave him alone. She'd take a break to serve them tea, sometimes having baked something earlier and they'd talk, Gold usually telling tall tales about his deals with the people in town and Belle pretending to believe him and condemn his for his nefarious actions. Other times he'd let her inspect whatever he had brought home to tinker with, watching as she tentatively traced her fingers delicately over the antique, lovable little caresses that made him want to be an old clock or an aged lamp.

Once he had been restoring a Victorian tea set, absolutely lovely, when she had asked to inspect it. She had been holding one of the cups when the baby monitor had sprung to life, Bae screaming bloody murder on the other end. She had startled, dropping the piece of china and watching it hit the carpeted floor with wide, stunned eyes. She had looked so torn between tending to the cup or going upstairs for Bae so he had knelt on the floor and ushered her outside. He had listened to her croon to his son over the monitor, closing his eyes and simply enjoying the sounds of his little boy mumbling and Belle calling him "darling" and "my boy" over and over again. He had gone as far as imagining she wasn't talking to Bae at all but to him, soothing him after a bad day with sweet words and gentle hands through his hair. He had imagined her wearing that white blouse he adored and resting his aching head between her breasts, Belle's hands pressing him closer instead of pulling away.

She has returned distressed over the incident, particularly when she had seen the cup was chipped. He had reassured her it was just a cup, which was rather far from the truth.

"It was a spotless set before I broke a cup. Now it's value has been halved at least. Don't patronize me"

"It's no matter, dearie. The set is too nice to sell anyway. We'll get some good use out of it" he had replied, and the use of the word "us" filled him with a strange warmth. She had smiled in response. He had put the chipped cup aside to repair, but had never had the heart to do it, letting it remain in a display case, a nice little memento of the afternoon.

She started leaving some of her things there, an change of clothes for an emergency (Bae was not a messy eater but he had his moments), some of her school books and other such things, small stuff he still loved to see around the house. He became familiar with each of her teachers just from her mentioning them, with her landlady, even with her step-siblings. Things started getting confusing inside his head, and he could see Belle was having the same problem separating her life from his and Bae's.

Bae, the only one of the three wise enough to see the situation for what it was, took for granted Belle's presence in his life. His family consisted of papa, who was fumbling and awkward but also funny and careful, and mama, who was warm and pretty and who made papa happier every day. Before he had been upset and sad, and couldn't quite connect with the man who had taken him away from the woman who he had been with before. Mama was the missing ingredient to build a family, and Bae was happy his papa had managed to find her. He had no clue why mama did not stay at night, and he didn't much like that she wasn't there for breakfast in the mornings. He could tell his papa did not like it either, so he was careful to pat the man on the shoulder, or offer him a stuffed animal when he went to wake him up. It seemed to help.

But then came the days when mama appeared in the morning, and saw papa off to work, straightening his tie and kissing him on the cheek. He always knew when that day came cause papa woke him up with a big smile on his face, and sometimes swung him around. He'd giggle and say "Mamma" and his papa would nod, so he would allow the poor man to dress him with little fuss.

But after that came "the day with no mamma" and it was awful. He'd sleep most of the day away, not interested in playing or watching cartoons. His papa would pace around the house, usually in a rather bleak mood, and so Bae would cuddle close to him, offering a comforting hug and being all around a good boy in order to lighten the man's burden. But one of those days, out of the blue, mama showed up, upset, and papa rushed her inside, demanding to know what the matter was. Bae asked to be picked up, so he could hug her because he knew his nice smell and his warmth helped. Meanwhile his papa looked both distressed and wicked, really to deal with the problem and punish whoever had managed to make mamma so sad. Bae approved.

His papa led them to the couch, where little Baden held onto his mamma even tighter, all the while his papa hovered over them, anxious and murderous. He finally settled down beside them, one of his arms tentatively resting over Belle's shoulders and the girl all but threw herself against him, Bae safe in her arms. With some sort of permission being granted he wrapped both his arms around his two most important people in the world and pulled them close against him.

"What is wrong, dear?" he asked, trying to sound calm and collected and urging his hands not to clutch her closer, not to take advantage. She hiccupped against the skin of his throat and he felt ready to clobber someone with his cane.

"I'm embarrassed to tell" she finally whispered, hiding her face against the crook of his neck and, essentially, driving him a little bit insane.

"Come on, dearie, it's just us two" he cajoled "You can tell us anything"

She hiccupped and sniffled once more and Bae made a mumbling sound meant to be soothing. She smiled and Gold could feel it, he could bloody feel it.

"It's just that… I had brunch with my dad today" she shifted and for a moment he thought she was going to pull away but she only settled more comfortably against him, sighing "He… he got to talking about my job. He'd heard I spent Saturdays looking after Bae and was concerned about my social life, saying that I was isolating myself, forgetting my friends…" there was more, he could tell, but he waited till she was comfortable enough to tell him "He… he said that Bae wasn't my son and that I needed to stop playing house"

Gold fought hard not to panic and to control his anger. That damned florist was going to be very sorry in a matter of hours, he'd make sure of that. He'd have a long, hard talk with him and by the time he was through the man would be sobbing apologies.

"That's nonsense, dearie, you have wonderful friends. You go with Ruby to the movies all the time, and visit Aislin Preston at least twice a week, and message her constantly"

Aislin was a girl Belle's age who was home-schooled due to poor health condition, which forced her to remain in bed most of the day. While delivering flowers to her house one day Belle had met her, and they had soon become close friends, sharing a passion for period dramas. But lately she had been so busy with Bae that she hadn't gone to see her in rather a long time, truth be told.

There was also the issue of Jefferson Madden, but Gold liked to pretend he didn't exist. The eccentric recluse who disliked coming into town had met Belle when she had baby-sat his little Grace for him and, since then, they had developed a friendship, particularly because Belle liked to wander through the forest. Gold could never understand what Belle saw in the self-appointed "Mad Hatter" but he knew enough of their relationship to know it was perfectly innocent, no matter how much Jefferson would tease him privately in council meetings. As far as he could tell no one knew of their friendship, and Belle kept the secret out of respect for Jefferson's jealously-guarded privacy. There were certain paranoiac tendencies in the man that sometimes drove little Grace up the wall.

"It's all rubbish, just your father being overly concerned about nothing of importance" Gold kept talking to convince himself and her. They were not playing house. It was all perfectly normal and alright. They were helping Bae, and Bae needed Belle. She understood that.

"I… I guess" she finally replied, nuzzling closer to him "Dad overreacts sometimes"

He kissed her hair before gently disentangling himself from her with a great deal of reluctance. He was getting close to taking liberties he had no right to. Baden kissed Belle soundly on both her cheeks, smiling when she giggled.

"Play!" he pleaded, and Belle laughed, nodding.

"Is it okay?" she asked Gold, realizing she was interrupting their Sunday. The Scotsman nodded with a smile.

"Actually, it's perfect. I find myself needing to complete a business transaction and I was going to take Baden with me, but now he can stay. It's rather chilly outside, after all, so this is quite a happy coincidence" he grabbed his coat, accepting her help with it and even allowed her to force a red scarf on him. He paused for a split second before grabbing the back of her head and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I'll never be able to pay you back for what you've done for Bae. If you ever feel the need to move on, you have but to say so, dearie"

She nodded, letting him know she understood and then he was off, walking towards the centre of the town. He spotted the "Game of Thorns" van before he zeroed in on the portly figure of the florist. He watched him go into his shop and motioned for his assistant, a tall, lanky man, to wait outside while he went in. Moe French seemed surprised to see him, torn between anger and fear.

"What do you want, Mr Gold?" he spat, though he could not quite meet the pawnbroker's eyes.

"I want you to stop harassing my employees" he replied, his tone clipped "Or trying to convince them to leave my service"

Moe gives him a glare.

"Belle is my daughter, I'll talk to her about whatever the Hell I want" he replied with more bravado than he probably felt "I know what's best for her"

Gold smiled, lifted his cane and promptly smashed the nearest vase, sending water, flowers and glass everywhere.

"You might be her father but you know nothing of what is best for her. You left her. You let a girl barely out of childhood move away from your home, without a fight, simply because it was convenient to you. You have Sunday brunches with her. Her landlady knows her more than you do!" he snarled "You cannot have it both ways, Mr French. You chose to let her go, to all but shut her out, and now she's her own person. And you will respect that. You will never again tell her to leave my son, who loves her beyond reason, who will only eat what she cooks and who lights up whenever she enters a room. Is that clear?"

There was something dangerous lurking behind Mr Gold's gaze, something almost inhuman but More French was not ready to quit, and he was certainly not done saying his peace.

"Do you think I don't know what's really going on?" he accused, red in the face "Belle might be a bit naive, but I wasn't born yesterday! You don't want her for your little boy, you want her for yourself, you sick, twisted-"

Whatever else he was about to say is cut short by Gold's cane suddenly pressing tightly against his windpipe, cutting off his air supply. The florist struggled a bit but was soon pinned against a wall, helpless.

"Now you listen to me and you listen carefully. You will never talk like that again. Not to Belle, not to anyone. If you do I will end you. Your house, your business, even your useless old van will all belong to me. You will never get a job in this town, and no one will help you. You'll have nothing, be nothing. Is that understood?"

Unable to move, much less speak, Moe French struggled to manage a simple nod but it was enough to make the pawnbroker release him. He tumbled to the floor, gasping for air, all his anger drained, leaving only fear.

"It was nice having this little chat, Mr French. I hope you take my words to heart" Gold's tone is congenial, mild and he even smiled before exiting the shop, pleased with himself.

_'She's no longer yours to keep, French' _he thought darkly _'She's Bae's and mine. She belongs with us now'_

He was beyond good and evil, past the point of no return. He no longer cared about right and wrong. He was keeping Belle for as long as she'd have it, and no one was going to stand in his way. No one.

When he returned home, calmer now that he had resolved the problem, he heard Belle talking on speaker-phone with Ruby. He took off his coat, absentmindedly following the conversation she was having, trying to see if she was truly ok or if her father's words still bothered her.

"Screw him, Belle, you're happy at the Golds's, though how that can be remains a mystery to me" Belle rolled her eyes at Ruby's words "Pay your dad no mind"

"I guess" the girl's voice sounded small, unsure.

"Hon, you never care about what your father says. What's really going on?"

"I'm afraid he's right, Ruby" Belle sniffled, biting back tears.

"So you love the little brat, that's to be expected"

"Not about that. About playing house. Not just about Bae… about his father. Ruby, the things I feel for Mr Gold…" her voice was but a whisper and her sentence ended in a sigh. The pawnbroker choked back a gasp, leaning against a wall to keep himself upright. Belle had feelings for him. Confusing feelings that went beyond him being her boss or even her friend. He was not alone, or imagining things. Whatever was between them was no one-sided, or platonic, or perverted. It was real.

"I'm back!" he announced, trying to sound like he just got in. He forced himself to appear calm, to focus, to quench the urge to pin his son's nanny against a wall and have his wicked way with her. He heard the girls exchange rushed goodbyes just as he entered the living-room.

"Business went well?" Belle asked, pulling herself together and greeting him with a smile.

"Splendid" he answered, managing to keep his smile from seeming manic "Just splendid. Care for some tea, dearie?"

She nodded, letting him place a hand on the small of her back while they walked to the kitchen and the certainty that she wanted his hand there, that she welcomed his touch, was almost overwhelming.

He'd wait. He could be patient, he knew it. She'd soon turn eighteen, and then he'd reveal his feelings, court her properly, and in due time they'd announce their relationship to the rest of the town. At first people would object, some would think it something fleeting or shocking, but the talk would die down after a while and he'd have Belle for his own.

… well, he was willing to share with Bae.


	2. Part Two

**Pairing:** Rumbelle. Mentions of Red Cricket and probably of Mad Swan cause… reasons.

**Summary:** She laughed at his jokes and looked after him. She was beautiful and kind and Bae adored her.

… she was also seventeen, and off-limits.

**Rating:** NC-17 (I though I'd mix it up, step away from my comfort zone).

**Dedication:** To Bad-Faery who has written some of my favourite things on Earth.

This chapter is also dedicated to Marquesadesantos, for being her awesome self.

Part Two of Three, the last to be posted on August 22nd.

**Warning: This part contains graphic descriptions of an older man having sex with an underage girl. However tastefully the subject is handled if you do not care for such things I recommend you don't read the chapter.**

* * *

He obviously hadn't thought it through. Waiting sounded sensible and nice in theory, but it was torture in reality. Now he knew she wanted him he felt it in every touch, saw it in every blush, her body language speaking volumes of her desires and feelings. She kept invading his personal space, seeking his touch and giving him hers whenever possible. Everything was a good enough excuse to brush a hand through his hair or down his arm. She'd kiss him often enough too, usually when she saw him out or greeted him in the evenings and he had to force his head not to turn the slightest bit and catch her lips with his.

She'd always know he stayed up late doing paperwork and he'd scold him, and in rainy days she'd be ready with a cold compress and some painkillers for his knee. She was lovely, and she cared. She was the first in a while to do so, but in a way that didn't make him feel crowded. She knew his moods, could read them like a book, and she'd act accordingly. She was a wonder, and he didn't deserve her, but he needed her. And Bae did too. He stopped correcting the boy when he called Belle "mamma". It was only a matter of time, after all. He just needed to plan it right, to cause Belle the least amount discomfort. The town would judge, he knew it very well. No one liked him, and they'd see the relationship as just another of his sick little quirks. They'd never openly accuse him of anything, they'd be too afraid, but they would surely think it. And though he didn't care what the silly people of Storybrooke, Maine thought about him, or whispered behind his back, he needed to protect Belle and Bae.

The initial reaction would be bad, but he'd keep it contained, away from both of them as much as possible. Belle would have to deal with a lot, even with his help, but his girl was brave, and strong. She'd pull through relatively unscathed, and his little boy would be easier to protect. He'd threaten the old hags in charge of the Day-care, and his paediatrician, and whoever else interacted with him. No one would dare breathe a word of disapproval in front of Baden.

And, given enough time, things would quiet down. People would get used to seeing them together, to her mothering Bae, and to their public displays of affection, because he was pretty sure that once he actually had the liberty to kiss her in public he'd do so, quite frequently. He wouldn't be able to control himself.

He planned, and dreamed, and enjoyed his days with Belle now that the guilt was no longer his constant companion. Belle was where she ought to be, doing what it was right for her to do and it was only a matter of time before they made it official, took the last step.

The date caught him off-guard. When she announced it he hardly knew what to do, or think. He was drawing a blank.

"Come again?" he managed to stutter out, trying to pull himself together and look less like a gaping fish. Bae, tucked in Belle's arms, looked a bit the same.

Well, at least he had moral support.

"I said I can't look after Bae on Saturday because I have a date" she repeated slowly, shifting the child in her arms to get a better hold of him "You'll need to use the Day-care. I know you don't like it, but there's no other way around it"

"Yes there is. Cancel the date, dearie. As simple as that" he countered, smiling "See? Problem solved"

Belle stared at him, shocked.

"Excuse me?" she finally asked, her tone sharp. Bae fussed in her grip, not liking the way his mamma sounded.

"Well, it is the logical solution. Bae needs you. Whatever dumb jock wants to take you out can do so on your day off" the pawnbroker smiled thinly and seemed about ready to declare the conversation over when Belle followed him into his study.

"Look, Mr Gold, I'm just giving you a fair warning. I won't be coming tomorrow, end of the question"

She left him alone afterwards and, after putting Bae to sleep she handed him the baby monitor and went home, not staying for tea. Gold sat alone in his study, for the first time in bad terms with Belle and barely able to even think about her going out with a young man her age, likely to be physically fit and handsome, a sportsman of some sort. And it made no sense… Belle had feelings for him, old and cripple as he was. She combed a hand through his hair most days, smiled his way every day, laughed at his jokes and looked after his son. Why the sudden appearance of an unwelcomed third party?

He tried to calm himself. Belle had never mentioned a boy before. She probably got roped into going on a date with him, and after that they would go back to the way things were.

Of course.

But it wasn't like that. Saturday was only the first in a series of bi-weekly dates between his nanny and some senior lacrosse player called Gaston March. He seemed like a nice, albeit superficial and not very bright young man with no other ambitions or aspirations than graduating high-school and going to work for his father in his car dealership. He found out everything there was to know about that tall lug of a boy, and though everything seemed to indicate the boy would not force himself on Belle he didn't trust Lurch as far as he could throw him.

Belle never mentioned him except when she had to leave early to meet him. He thought he saw no enthusiasm when she left them, only a sort of reluctance that gave him hope to endure. Bae even got to meet Gaston when they encountered him during a Saturday walk and when Belle embarrassingly reported the little boy had thrown up all over her beau's new shirt Gold made inhuman efforts to cover his gleeful smirk. Later he bought Bae the biggest stuffed bear the boy had ever seen.

He didn't know what drove him to The Merry Men, Storybrooke's closest thing to an English Pub. He had enough fine Scotch and other spirits at home, but Belle was home, in a spaghetti-strap dress trying to fight off the unseasonable heat wave x}that had settled over the little town, so his house was not exactly a safe place. He ordered two beers before moving onto Scotch, feeling like nothing gave him the ability to temporarily forget his problems like he desired.

"You, boy, is this the best you've got?" he enquired after downing his drink. The pub was almost deserted, so the bartender was quite free to be belittled by him.

"Well, sir, I don't think it's a good idea to give you anything stronger" he cautiously replied.

"Like anything in here could qualify. You seem to serve only water" Gold sneered back, looking indeed quite sober for a man on his fifth drink. The bartender, a young English guy with more patience than the Scotsman deserved, hesitated before replying:

"Well, we do have a special something we mix together for the daring patron, but I think it'd be too much"

It took less than five minutes for Gold to threaten the cautious young man into mixing him said drink, and even less to down it. He felt the tell-tale warmth of alcohol pool inside him, but otherwise he remained unaffected.

"It takes a while to feel it working" the young Brit warned as Gold paid his tab and limped away, knowing he couldn't avoid his home forever "It has some very unusual side-effects, sir!" he shouted at Gold's back.

The night air was sticky and uncharacteristically warm and the pawnbroker ignored the urge to shed his suit jacket. His thoughts were full of Belle, her loving treatment of Bae, the way she had made his house home, the smiles she gave him which he was sure she gave no one else…

Suddenly, the whole issue with Gaston seemed ridiculous. Belle was his, well, his and Bae's. He had been remiss in not informing her of that, but that was easily fixed. He just needed to be clear with her, straight, stop this silly silent dance of theirs. He knew Belle wanted him and everything in him screamed that he needed her… What else was there to contemplate? Why hadn't he already told her all those things? He couldn't remember.

His home smelt like her and Bae and he filled his lungs with the scent, surprised when he realized it calmed him down. She was humming somewhere on the second floor, probably putting Bae to sleep. He tossed his suit jacket aside and loosened his tie, suddenly feeling the need to get out of his restricting clothing. He let the silk fall somewhere next to the stairs and rolled up the cuffs of his deep red shirt, unbuttoning the top buttons as well, trying to feel less smothered by the fabric. He felt feverish now, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. It gave him, strangely, focus, his mind zeroing in on Belle's voice. The world spun around him, but her humming kept him grounded. It was a siren call, and though something inside him protested violently at the things he was thinking the rest of him propelled him forward.

He found her at the end of the hall by Bae's door, likely watching him sleep, a smile on her face. There was something odd about her, something had changed since he had gone to the pub. Her hair seemed damp and was pulled back in a messy bun, a few locks escaping the hairstyle, the tips brushing against the white collar of the shirt she was wearing…

His shirt.

The sight left his mind blank for a moment, whatever part of his brain that had still been thinking coherently shutting down. The shirt was one of his rare light ones and, though he wasn't a particularly big man, it still drowned her a little, the cuffs covering her hands and the hem almost covering the jean shorts she had on, which he knew where part of the small bundle of clothes she had for emergencies. The shirt gaped open since, apparently, the top two buttons were missing and he had a vague recollection of setting the garment aside to sew the buttons back on ages ago and then completely forgetting all about it.

"Oh, thank God you're here, I was beginning to worry" a smile bloomed on Belle's face and it made him feel more pleasant warmth inside. He fancied he could smell her from that far away and, strangely, she smelt of him.

"What's happened, dearie?" he asked, taking a ridiculous amount of time to find the necessary words. Speech suddenly seemed almost beyond him. His eyes roamed over her figure hungrily and she blushed deliciously in response. She looked confused but nothing in her body language seemed to indicate she was uncomfortable or felt threatened. That was good. Gold only wanted to make Belle happy, always.

"Finger-painting with Bae turned out to be a bad, bad idea, which was how I ended up changing from my dress" she replied, chuckling "And when I gave him a bath to remove the paint from his face and arms he thought he'd return the favour… Ended up with a soaked t-shirt and a very proud little man"

Gold laughed with her, feeling strangely proud of Baden. His cub had tried to help his mamma. He was a good lad.

"I hope you don't mind my borrowing your shirt. It's one you don't much use, and it's missing a few buttons, so I thought…" she was rambling, which was adorable, and allowed him to move closer with her barely noticing. She startled when he fingered the collar of the white shirt, but did not shy away from him. And of course she wouldn't. She was his. He was hers. This was natural.

"It looks good on you" he rasped, his voice rough. Belle looked up at him, noticing his eyes where glazed over.

"Are you okay, Mr Gold?" she asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. The pawnbroker leaned against her touch and she cupped his cheeks "You don't seem to have a fever, but you seem strange"

He nuzzled against her and then bent his head close to her neck.

"You smell like me" he sighed "Not a trace of idiotic lacrosse player on you. Just me"

She took a step back, running into a wall.

"I'm sorry?" she said, eyes wide and confused. Gold stared deeply into them, trying to ascertain if she was in any way afraid. She seemed wary, and a bit conflicted, but nothing indicated she feared him, which filled him with relief.

"The jock. Don't see him again. Stay here. With Bae" he took a last step forward till she was all but flush against him and his muscles relaxed. He skimmed his lips across the sensitive bit of skin just below her left ear.

"With me"

Even as out of sorts as he was he wanted her to make the first move, afraid to push too hard, to go too far. She finally put him out of his misery, shifting her face to the left and catching his lips with hers. She had had honey at some point in the evening and her lips were lightly coated in it. He lightly traced his tongue across them to better get a taste before closing his mouth around her bottom lip and sucking. His reward, apart from her half-muted moan, was the feel of her arms as they crept up his chest and around his shoulders. It was all the permission he needed to let go and he did so, pressing her back against the wall, one arm around her waist and a hand buried in her hair, gently coaxing her to title her head a bit and lift it ever-so-slightly. She was inexperienced but delightfully enthusiastic, a heady combination that made it impossible to think.

He couldn't remember why he hadn't done this before, but he couldn't seem to even care, especially when she experimentally parted her lips and licked the seam of his mouth, prompting him to let her in. She grew confident with each little growl he let out, tracing the roof of his mouth with her tongue and seeking out his own. He took over at that point, unable to remain passive and let her explore any longer. He felt that as much as he pressed her against him and as deep as he could explore the inside of her mouth he'd never be close enough to her, not really.

But to her it was too much, too soon, and he fought to restrain himself. He had desired her for months, but she was young, and needed to take things slow. He gently ended the kiss, taking pleasure in the way she leaned forward to prolong the contact as much as possible.

"Mr Gold?" her voice was but a whisper, unsure but trusting. He silenced her by nuzzling her neck, loving the citrusy smell of her mixing with his own from the white shirt she wore. He heard her sigh, still confused but clearly not opposed to what was happening. Good. He wanted her willing. Wanting. Needing.

If nothing else to level the playing field.

When his nose had its fill of her he let his tongue trail a lazy path across her neck and down where it met her shoulder, gently closing his mouth against her flesh and sucking, softly at first, picking up on her small sighs and the way her head lolled to a side before upping the game, letting his teeth worry the skin with increasing force. There was something insanely erotic about the certainty that he was the first to mark her thus… first and last. The jock would never get to taste the slight saltiness of her skin, or feel its smooth texture as it slid against his tongue. The senior had robbed him of enough experiences: a first date, first time holding hands, perhaps even a first kiss. He wouldn't get anything else that was rightfully his.

He released her throat with reluctance, gently laving the bruise he had made with care. She felt boneless against him, and he was sure that if he let her go she'd slump to the floor. She needn't worry though. He had her firmly in his grasp and wasn't planning on letting go soon.

Or ever.

"Is this… good?" he asked, his voice rough and almost inhuman. He traced circles on the skin of the small of her back, trying to be reassuring, affectionate. He didn't want to spook his lovely little gazelle by succumbing too much to the animalistic urges itching beneath his skin. She was precious, a part of him asserted. He needed to take it slow.

The mark helped somewhat. The sight of it, a stark darkness against her pale skin, soothed him, filled him with some sort of vague contentment. The mark meant something beyond the pleasure it had given him to make it. He traced his fingers against it and Belle inhaled deeply while nodding her answer to his question. It was clearly tender still.

She reached out slowly to kiss him again, a hand caressing the nape of his neck, fingernails scratching against the skin till he let out a whimper into her mouth. It was difficult but he let her have complete control of the kiss, encouraging her when she did something he particularly liked. Her delicate movements all but killed him and a part of his brain demanded he haul her close and kissed her silly, lay her down the first flat surface and do what he had been dreaming about for months on end. He'd be good, gentle, a tamed beast, and he'd teach her everything she didn't know. He'd make it good for her, good enough that the idea of not spending the rest of her life doing that with him would seem laughable, ridiculous.

But then she pulled him away, putting unnecessary distance between them that he did not approve of. He tried pressing closer, letting out a pained sound that he hoped properly conveyed his objections to any sort of separation.

"Wait, Mr Gold" she said, trying not to sound too breathless "I… I have a date. Tomorrow. With Gaston. I can't… I can't do this to him"

He was, on one hand, elated that she hadn't said anything about the age-gap, or her underage status, and that she didn't sound like she felt taken advantage of. On the other hand the name of Gaston March belonged nowhere near a conversation Belle was having with him while in his arms, with his shirt on, and seconds after having his tongue in her mouth. It was a simple, clear truth.

"Ditch the jock, send him on his way once and for all" he tightened his hold on her, not painfully but desperately, clutching at the fabric of his shirt to keep her where she was, where she belonged. He wanted to thrust his hips against hers but whatever trail of reason still clung to him made him deeply aware of just how young and inexperienced Belle was. And another part of him liked that a bit too much.

"… I can't. It'd be…" her voice trailed off when he again bit her, and she sunk her fingers in his hair and yanked him closer, mewling "unkind. I can't just cancel, out of the blue"

He worshipped her throat with his lips and tongue, feeling how pliant and willing she was, how she arched her body in response to his every caress. She even smelled welcoming, which made no sense. It was a heady trace in her scent, something his body recognized instinctually and responded to almost against his will. It was spinning him around, further confusing him, but he didn't mind. It was glorious to feel so out of control while she was in his arms, so unlike the usual guilt and worry that ate him up. He was free, and she was with him, responding to him, yielding to him.

No, not yielding. Meeting him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, an equally enthusiastic participant in their new dance. Her fingernails were doing incredible things to him, and somehow he had gotten his hands to slide beneath his shirt, finally touching glorious amounts of bare skin, skin he had never even set eyes on. Oh, but she was everything he'd hoped for and more, so much more…

"Leave him" he growled, softening the impact of his words by playfully tugging at her earlobe "Stay. Stay" he was imploring her now, feeling feverish "Your place is here" he wracked his mind for something to make her stay, to make her see she belonged in this house "Bae loves you. He needs you"

Somehow that stopped Belle dead in her tracks. She wrenched herself away from Mr Gold, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged. She looked at him with a dawning understanding.

"Bae?" she asked, something horrible lurked in the corners of her eyes, something he didn't like "What about Bae?"

Maybe the wee lad would be enough to convince her to stop skipping around town with that overgrown idiot and go back to the way things were, with the hopeful addition of more moments like the one they had just spent together. But she seemed more distant than ever, her eyes no longer soft and liquid and her posture stiff. Something had happened.

"Bae needs you here, in this house, in his life" he found it awful to be using his son like that but he needed Belle to stay. Needed it desperately. He felt sluggish and confused and only having her near, touching, seemed to bring him any kind of clarity.

Belle took a few steps back, taking a deep breath. She looked like she was about to cry and it made Gold unable to breathe. Something was really, really wrong.

"Belle?" he enquired, dazed. He wanted his mind to focus, to concentrate and figure out what he'd done wrong and how he could fix it.

"You're drunk" she whispered, noticing how he stumbled. She carefully steered him to his bedroom, which would have thrilled him if she didn't look so grim. This was no how it was supposed to go. He'd messed things up. He sat down on his bed when she gently urged him to do so and felt her remove his shoes and shirt. It felt wrong, and Belle looked unhappy and he couldn't focus enough to make things better. She retreated to his private bathroom, coming back with a glass of water she made him drink. Finally she looked him in the eyes and told him, slowly and clearly, that she wasn't coming by tomorrow, that he'd have to use the Day-care. He could barely understand her so she showed him a note on his nightstand, next to some aspirin.

"Take these in the morning and read the letter. You'll be fine, Mr Gold. I have to go now"

He wanted to object but felt incredibly sluggish, drowsy, and before he could blink he'd fallen asleep.

* * *

Waking up was a rather unpleasant experience that involved running to his bathroom, losing the contents of his stomach and crawling back to bed, managing to climb atop it and find the aspirins by the nightstand, swallowing them before drinking as much water as his furious stomach would allow him. He stayed immobile for a while, breathing in and out till he stopped feeling queasy and then forced himself to fumble for his cane and get up. He checked on Bae, noticing he was asleep, thankfully, and then glanced at his watch, noticing Belle was running late.

Her name sparked the memories, at first images that seemed taken straight out of his most vivid fantasies, but accompanied by smells and sounds. It took him a few moment to realize they were no fantasies but memories, and the whole night came pouring back in sickening detail.

He had gotten drunk. He had come home to Belle wearing his shirt and lost his fucking mind. Belle had eventually pushed him away, looking distraught, and told him she wouldn't be coming in the morning.

He was a bastard who didn't deserve to breathe.

He had hurt Belle. He had screwed things over beyond repair.

He felt sick again, but pushed the nausea back, trying to pull himself together. He had a child to care for. Belle would be back on Monday and they'd talk. He'd apologize and promise never to assault her again. He'd fucking lie if he had to, about his feelings for her, about the certainty that he wouldn't be able to be close to her without touching her. He'd gain her confidence once more, he'd figure out how to make her love him, because there was no plan B at that point. There was only plan A and Belle was a key component of it.

He woke Bae up, frowning when he noticed the little boy had a fever. It was going to be a long weekend, he thought as he dialled Bae's paediatrician and quenched the urge to hang up and call Belle instead.

A long weekend indeed. Just him, a sick child and a closetful of regrets and recriminations.

* * *

When Friday rolled around Gold was ready to kill someone. Or have a breakdown, whichever came first. Belle hadn't been to the house all week, and wouldn't answer his calls. He had been lucky to get Mrs Shoeman on the phone once to at least assure him about the girl's well-being. She wasn't sick, or hurt or in any sort of trouble.

She just didn't want to see him. Of course.

He felt sick whenever he paused to contemplate it. Disgusted with himself, certainly, because it was obvious he had pushed Belle too far. But also deathly afraid. Afraid of having perhaps blown any real chance he could have had with Belle. He tried and tried to remember every single detail about the night but his recollections made no sense. In his mind Belle had been welcoming, if not a but tentative, and had willingly participated. If he concentrated enough he could still feel her fingernails scratching against the nape of his neck and it drove him insane cause he knew it couldn't have happened. She wasn't talking to him, for fuck's sake.

On top of that he had Bae to deal with. He had gotten moodier and moodier with every day Belle hadn't been home. He almost constantly cried out for his mamma, and he only hopped he wasn't doing that at the Day-Care, though he supposed people would assume he missed his biological mother. He had grown quiet too, and Gold had had to come to terms with the fact that, no matter how much progress he had made with his wee boy, Belle was the most important person in his life. The one the boy needed above everyone else.

He could easily understand that.

He had promised to give her space and respect her decisions. If she didn't want to see him, so be it. But a week had eroded his will, and when his need to see Belle grew stronger than his fear of confronting her, he closed up shop early and walked as calmly as possible to Belle's flat, Mrs Shoeman receiving him warmly. Thank God for her budding senility.

"Belle is just up the stairs, third and final floor. I'm sorry to say we have no elevator, but I could phone her and tell her…"

"No, no, please don't bother her" he quickly interrupted. He needed privacy for whatever type of conversation he was going to have with her, and Mrs Shoeman's foyer hardly qualified. There was also the chance Belle wouldn't agree to see him if she was asked "I'll go up"

His knee protested the five minutes it took him to "sprint" up the stairs, and by the time he'd made it all the way to the third floor he was pretty sure his knee was on fire. He took a few moments to compose himself in front of her door, realizing he had no idea what he'd say, but there was no turning back now. He knocked, praying she wouldn't ask who it was and he's prayer was answered when Belle opened the door, no questions asked. It was pretty obvious she hadn't expected to find him there, if her wide eyes were anything to go by.

"Mr Gold" she greeted, surprised, and just to hear her voice made him feel a thousand times better.

"Belle" he replied, hoping he didn't sound as needy or as desperate as he felt "So you're not dead after all, dearie"

The girl blushed, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. The apartment was small, and didn't have a lot in the way of furniture. It did have a lot of books, and was freakishly clean. There were a lot of plants as well, and a lot of light. She offered him a seat on one of the worn out chairs of her tiny "dinner table" (too small to really be considered this, in his opinion) and busied herself straightening things out unnecessarily.

"Can I get you something to drink? I'm afraid I have very little, just some tea and maybe instant coffee. The tea is the kind in bags, but it's very good all the same…"

He couldn't help grasping her hands in his, trying to keep her still for a second. He regretted it immediately, and released her like her touch had burned him. She didn't back away, but she looked unsettled.

"Please, dearie, sit down" he requested "We need to talk"

She nodded and sat down with the table firmly between them.

"You're here for Bae, I gather" she said, her voice soft "I hope he hasn't been much trouble"

He shook his head.

"I'm not here for Bae. I could lie and tell you I was, and it'd make this conversation a whole lot easier, I suspect, but it'd be taking the coward's way out and I'm tired of doing that"

Belle frowned, clearly not following him.

"Look, Belle, about what happened the other Friday…"

She stopped him this time with a gesture of her hand.

"I get it, Mr Gold, really. You were drunk, and confused. The situation with Bae… it can be complicated. Things can get mixed up, difficult to separate. Feelings get tangled up… I should have expected it"

Gold arched an eyebrow, at first not following the teen. Gradually, though, a thought gained shape inside his head: Belle was under the impression he, drunk as he had been, had gotten confused about seeing Belle as a mother to Bae and seduced her somehow to make her stay with his son.

The idea that he didn't want her for herself, that he wanted her only as a mother-figure to Bae, was ridiculous. Once upon a time it would have been the answer to all his prayers but he was way past lying to himself about his feelings.

"Oh, dearie, you've got it all hopelessly wrong" he quipped, finding some sort of sick humour in the entire situation. He had no interest in playing a game of misunderstandings and coy half-truths. He had already all but had his way with her, he owed her as much honesty as he possibly could. Besides, when all was said and done, he wanted to at least be sure he had said his peace.

"Belle" he begun, trying to find words to convey his feelings without sounding like some middle-aged freak with a crush "I apologize for what I did on Friday. I had too much to drink and I'm sorry if in any way, shape or form I made you uncomfortable" Belle looked ready to cry, but nodded her acceptance of his apologies "But I want to make one thing clear, dearie, and you can decide after that whether you ever set a foot in my house again or not: last week had nothing to do with Bae, or with confused or misplaced feelings and everything to do with the fact that I've had feelings for you for a while"

He heard her gasp but couldn't quite manage to look at her in the eye. His bravery only went so far.

"I realize that it's not an ideal situation, that an old fool like myself has no right expecting someone like you to look at him twice, but the heart wants what the heart wants. I was going to wait, you know? Till you were eighteen. I was going to do things properly for once, in the hopes that it'd be enough to get you to see past my many sins. I'm not a nice man, dearie, nor a good one, but you make me want to be" he paused, still not looking at her "Wanting you has nothing to do with Bae. It certainly doesn't hurt that the tyke adores you, of course, but this is not about him"

"It's not?" Belle seemed genuinely shocked and it almost made Gold laugh. If only she knew half the things that went through his head when he was in her presence she wouldn't doubt him so.

"No. For a long time I tried to pretend it was. I mean, what right did I have to think of you? Let's for a moment forget the fact that you're seventeen and have your whole life ahead of you" he paused, looking for words "You're good, Belle. Innately, completely, irrefutably good. And brave. I'm a coward, dearie, no matter how much I try to make the townsfolk think otherwise. I like people to fear me because if they do I don't fear them. But you were never afraid of me, and it terrified me. Sometimes it still does" the raw honesty was killing him but he gritted his teeth and trudged on. This was important and he'd put himself on the line for it "I've even been jealous of Bae, for God's sake, because he got to be as close to you as he wanted while I've had to maintain a proper distance at all times. I know I don't deserve you, Belle, and that I am a difficult man to love but if you'd even consider it I swear I'd be as gentle as a lamb, I'll change, I'll be better, I'll-"

Whatever he was going to say next got cut off when Belle placed her hands on the sides of his face and the pawnbroker noticed for the first time that she had moved from her place on the other side of the table. He looked up at her, hating the he couldn't read her like he usually could. Belle was, with those close to her, an open book. He stilled, barely breathing while he watched her stare intently at him. Finally, slowly, she bent down and pressed her lips against his, and the world, as far as Gold was concerned, stopped. He dared not grasp her waist and pull her close like he wanted to, fearing he'd ruin the moment. He let her set the pace, content to tilt his head to a side when her hands urged him to and part his lips when her tongue gently requested it. She grew bolder after a while, tangling a hand in his hair and placing the other on his shoulder to better perch herself while she thoroughly explored his mouth, barely noticing she was all but straddling him. Finally she pulled away, flushed and wide eyed and, thank God, smiling.

"Let's go pick up Bae. We can talk more at your house" she encouraged, taking him by the hand and, as always, leading him. They drove quickly by the Day-Care Centre in compatible silence, the toddler latching onto Belle the moment he set eyes on her, refusing to let go for a good while, no toy or TV show enticing him away from the teenager. Gold didn't seem to mind, enjoying the fact that, for once, he could stare at boy his son and his nanny openly, enjoying the way Belle blushed whenever she caught him. Finally Bae got drowsy enough to consent to be put to sleep, but it took the brunette around twenty minutes to accomplish the task. Gold waited, nervous and giddy and sick, on the couch in the living-room and felt infinitely pleased and relieved when she sat right next to him, casually leaning against his side and draping his arm around her shoulders.

"This okay?" she asked, a faint trace of doubt and embarrassment coating her voice. He pressed her close then, dropping a kiss one her forehead.

"This is perfect, love" he assured her, very happy to have her near. They stayed in silence for a while, Gold combing a hand through her hair and Belle draping an arm across his chest and nuzzling into his neck.

"So" she finally said, the words tickling his skin "You want me?"

"Desperately" he confessed, determined not to hold anything back. It was a sweet sort of torture to have her so close and be determined to do so little to her, but he was unwilling to risk it "And you, love? So sure you want an old monster to call your own?"

She smiled against his throat, nodding.

"It's all I've wanted for months now" she replied, her voice warm and reeking of sincerity. Her words, however, made him remember a rather unpleasant puzzle he needed answers to.

"What about your young man? How does Mr March factor in this entire scenario?"

He tried to sound nonchalant, but Belle caught the vulnerability in his voice. She disentangled herself from him, wanting to look at him in the eyes.

"There were rumours, you know? Teenage kids being immature, most likely, but it doesn't change that people at school were making lewd comments about you and me. The gossip at first was really small, most people afraid to even pronounce your name, but it got louder. Ruby warned me one day, that things were starting to get out of hand, and I knew I had to do something"

She paused, exhaling loudly.

"Gaston was the perfect solution. He asked me out, really polite, and took me to the ice-cream parlour and to the movies and then home. There he proposed we see each other. I said yes because I needed all the talk to die down. I needed to keep you both safe and, besides, I thought you'd never look at me as anything but your son's nanny, some silly little girl, so I thought I was doing the right thing by moving on" she ran a hand through his hair and looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world "Last Saturday I let him know I wasn't interested in him, because I thought it wouldn't be fair to string him along anymore. Turns out he knew it all along, and wasn't really into me either. He said he knew about the rumours and he thought he'd help me out by pretending to date me. So far it's worked like a charm"

The pawnbroker nodded, feeling both elated at the news and sceptic.

"What a chivalrous young man" he mocked, pulling her against him once more, this time draping her legs across his lap, needing the contact to erase the leftover taste of jealousy lingering in him.

"Not really" Belle replied "He said he was happy to date me to get rid of all the girls that are constantly harassing him at school, but I believe it has more to do with the fact that he's gay"

"Well, aren't all my dreams coming true today?"

Belle hit him playfully in the chest and he laughed, feeling free. He caught her lips with his own, moaning when she immediately opened up to him, enthusiastically engaging in the kiss. She tangled her fingers in his hair and he knew then she was well aware of what her nails against his scalp did to him.

Minx.

He reluctantly pulled her away, knowing his limits. It was time for Belle to go home. She was still seventeen and would be for several months. They had to wait.

"It's getting late, love" he whispered, his hands lazily roaming her back "You should go home"

She smiled sadly.

"I am home"

Gold crushed her to him, attacking her mouth with none of the delicacy he had strived for before. His last shred of self-control was now solely dedicated to not having sex with Belle, the rest of him was too full of her to care about stuff like taking things slow and being careful with her.

"You shouldn't say things like that" he rasped into her ear when he was able to stop kissing her "I might never let you go if your do, and then we'd have a problem"

She beamed, seeming okay with that plan, but sobered up when she saw the conflict in his eyes. He wanted her to stay, but for things to work out he needed her to go.

"So the plan is to wait till I'm eighteen" she seemed not very pleased with the idea, but touched he wanted to do things right. Niggling feelings, however, made her add "And… You'll wait. There'll be no… others?"

"None but you" he swore "It's been none but you for a long time now, love"

She gave him a last, butterfly soft kiss before getting up from the couch and putting on her jacket. She turned to face him, biting her lip.

"And Gaston… It'd be safer if I keep 'dating him', but I won't if you don't want me to"

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his mused hair before grabbing his cane and standing up with a little bit of difficulty. His leg still resented the three flights of stairs he had climbed, it seemed.

"There is no touching whatsoever, right?" he asked and she nodded "I suppose it's for the best, then. But, just to be sure, how gay is Mr March exactly?"

Belle rolled her eyes.

"He thinks Billy the mechanic has a great ass"

"Splendid"

He escorted her to the door, still resenting the impending departure. She gave him a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and sighed.

"Good night, Mr Gold"

He stopped her just before she opened the door.

"Malcolm. My name is Malcolm"

* * *

Bae noticed the change almost immediately. Papa was the most obvious, grinning all the time and swinging him around, spending hours after work with them, usually in the living-room playing with blocks or reading stories. He'd sit close to mamma, as Bae thought all parents must do, and they were often touching, and cuddling, sometimes even kissing, particularly when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

At first he hadn't much liked sharing mamma's hugs with his Papa, but the man obviously needed plenty of them, and he was a big enough boy to know the value of sharing. So just as he shared his toys and even sometimes his pacifier, which his Papa never used right, the poor man, he shared more and more of mamma. He noticed, almost immediately, the benefits of such a course of action since mamma now spent even more time with them, and had stopped trying to get him to use her other name, the one he didn't much like. He also observed she seemed to smile even more and kiss him all the more often, which he greatly appreciated. Papa was affectionate now, and warm, but not much of a kisser.

Sometimes Papa and mamma would be touching and a weird feeling would settle in the room, like a sort of tension the boy didn't much care for. The adults would suddenly freeze and look at each other oddly and it would fall on poor, selfless Bae to reach out with his arms towards one of his parents and say "Up, up" to distract them. It was a hard job, sometimes, taking care of his parents, but he guessed that all kids had it tough like him sometimes and he quite liked having them around in any case.

"He's giving us that look again" Belle mentioned while moving the scrambled eggs around the sizzling skillet, an amused smile in her eyes "That wide-eyed, cunning little look he totally gets from you"

Malcolm looked at his son. Little Bae was, indeed, solemnly looking at both of them, almost contemplative and, indeed, a bit like he was plotting, even though he was barely two. He ruffled the boy's floofy hair and the child giggled, returning to normal.

"He's gonna be a handful" he muttered with pride, smiling wickedly as Belle almost smashed the plate of eggs in front of him.

"You'll encourage all sorts of questionable behaviour, won't you?"

Talking about the future, particularly in the off-handed, casual way, never seemed to stop making Gold's pulse race. It got him going when it seemed like his pretty little Belle would stay seventeen and out of reach forever, and he'd be forced to have her close, and willing, and extremely off-limits. When it became too much she seemed to know and would sit him down on the couch, snuggle close to him and talk about future plans and ideas, about maybe considering letting Bae have a pet somewhere in the future, about introducing him to other children his age before he started pre-K, about hoping he'd be more open to haircuts someday, small stuff, usually having to do with the boy, their boy, that calmed him down. He hated himself for being weak in the face of Belle's unwavering strength, but it seemed to help her to talk things over too.

Their unspoken agreement had been to keep the intimacies to a minimum. It hurt too much to start something they couldn't finish, but there were times when they couldn't very well help it. It was a dangerous game they played, full of temptations and uncomfortable amounts of unresolved sexual tension, made only worse by the fact that they knew that the other felt the same way, and they couldn't even say it out loud.

Malcolm held onto the fact that Belle was young and needed the time to become comfortable with the idea of further intimacy, imagining all the sorts of doubts and apprehensions she could have about bedding a cripple, and an old one at that. His flagellating cowardice served, ironically, as an effective cold shower: the idea that she might want him seemed sometimes utterly ridiculous, even when confronted with the reality of her passionate kisses and eager responses. The voice inside that had always told him that he was not good enough, utterly unworthy of anything good, helped feed the doubt that kept him firmly from having her completely when everything she did and said clearly indicated she wanted him.

Belle, on the other hand, had a more powerful incentive: fear. Fear they'd be discovered, and he'd be dubbed all sorts of horrible things, and probably arrested. He'd run the risk of losing his business, his house and, most importantly, Bae. It was a sobering thought, and she managed to summon it every time she thought about being done with the waiting.

"You're going out with Mr March, aren't you?" Gold asked off-handed while he finished his eggs, not looking at her in the eyes.

"Yes. He's taking me to the movies, then to a restaurant out of town, and then straight home. It's all perfectly innocent" she carded her fingers through his hair, guessing the dark turn of his thoughts.

"You'll call me as soon as you get home?" he asked, needing her reassurance. Usually he tried to give his independent beauty her space, but when it came to the matter of Gaston March he needed appeasement, no matter how unattached to her the boy was.

"I promise" she replied, kissing his cheek and straightening his tie "Now go make some very nice people cry, darling"

The day proved to be uneventful, and very dull. Few customers, no deals, and surprisingly low shows of outright fear. A mechanic had shown up to pawn his rather remarkable old compass, a sort of family relic, but nothing much happened after that. He closed mid-afternoon and picked up Bae from Day-Care, and together they went home to watch shark documentaries (Belle was rather worried by the kid's fascination with sharp-toothed predators but Malcolm was simply glad something of himself was finally showing up on the kid.

As the hours wore on he begun the feel anxious. Belle hadn't call, and the evening was giving way to the night, and he was trying really hard not to be some control-freak who needed to check up on his girlfriend every second. He finally turned off his cell phone to minimize the temptation and, reasoning Belle would certainly call tomorrow, he dragged himself forcibly to bed, where he fell asleep almost reluctantly.

Sunday passed slowly, and every time the clock chimed it seemed to mock him. Around midday he caved in and called Belle on her cell, since she didn't have a landline, but it went straight to voicemail, as it did the other hundred times he dialled her number. He begun to get an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn't quite name but that made him sick. He went over their last conversation and their latest interactions, trying to see if he had done or said something wrong, something that might have upset her. He kept drawing a blank, which, instead of calming him down, made him all the more anxious.

He reasoned that something might be off with her phone and she didn't wish to arouse suspicion by coming to tell him, which made sense. Feeling rather cooped up he strapped a rather wary-looking Bae to his car seat and drove to the Pharmacy, in search of diapers and a few extra things he was pretty sure he didn't need.

It was when he was at the check-out counter that he heard it. Two teenagers in line in front of him were inanely talking about high school football or other such nonsense when one of them mentioned Gaston March.

"How grounded do you think he is?" he asked his companion, who shrugged.

"He totaled his father's car, I bet he's not getting out of it any time soon"

"He was lucky he didn't break a leg or something, his coach would have killed him"

"I heard he got off with a broken nose and some scrapes. His date wasn't as lucky. Got trapped in the car for hours, and I heard she got a fuckton of stitches"

It took everything in him not to react. He kept perfectly still, counted to ten, and then counted again when it was clear ten hadn't been enough. He got out of the line, dumping the basket full of his would-be purchases on the floor and hurried back to his car, securing his son back in his seat before rushing to the town's hospital a few blocks away.

When he got there he was quick to single out a nurse and threaten her with an unexpected raise on her rent if she didn't look after his son for five minutes. Bae, surprisingly, allowed the stranger to take him, glancing worriedly at his papa.

He went straight to the admissions desk, trying to look more terrifying that terrified, and asked a nurse there about Isabelle French.

"I'm sorry, sir, but any and all information on a patient is strictly restricted to close family" the woman replied unhelpfully.

"I'm her employer" he snarled, like that was all he was. Like he wasn't planning on being with her forever, or at least for a s long as she wanted him.

"I understand that, but it doesn't make you a family member" the nurse replied, refusing to budge. Gold knew enough of people to know that she wasn't going to succumb to his usual threats. Just as he was about to shout some more, just for the fun of it, he spotted Moe French walking towards the reception area, a sheer plastic bag in his hands. He paused when he spotted Gold.

"Mr French, this gentleman is enquiring after your daughter. Should I let him in?" the nurse asked, solicitous towards a concerned father. Moe looked down at the bag in his hands and it was then that the pawnbroker saw what it contained:

A dress. A bloodied dress.

"No" the florist replied at last, scorn in his voice "Mr Gold is not to come anywhere near my little girl's room. She needs her rest"

Something nasty passed between the two men before Moe walked away, heading towards the cafeteria. Gold struggled to breathe, breathe and get the horrible image of that dress out of his head. Mr French hadn't acted like Belle was in any particular sort of danger, he seemed calm, he had even left his fucking side, the bleeding idiot. She was fine.

She was fine.

He limped back to the stunned nurse holding his son like he was some sort of nuclear device and took him in his arms, balancing him in order to manoeuvre with his cane, since he had forgotten the sling. He mechanically strapped him again to his car seat before driving back to his house, planning on calling anyone and everyone who could answer his questions. He'd have to phrase his words carefully, never showing concern for Belle as a person, always stressing the fact that she was his son's nanny and he needed to know when she'd be back to work.

Several hours later he still had no answers, and felt disgusted with himself over the whole pretence. Bae was looking at him with wide, fearful eyes so he picked him up and rocked him.

"She's gonna be fine, Bae, you'll see" he murmured into the child's hair, knowing he was trying to convince himself "She's gonna be just fine. Gaston March, on the other hand…"

* * *

It took three days for him to find out the specifics of Belle's condition. A cut in her forehead, several on her arms, a possible concussion (which had proven to be untrue) and smoke inhalation from being trapped in the car while the engine flooded the inside of the car with smoke. Thankfully nothing had exploded or anything and she had only been kept in the hospital for three days to look for signs of internal bleeding and to let her get some rest, since she lived by herself with no one to keep an eye on her but an old lady leaving three stories down.

Apparently her father had demanded she came home so he could take care of her but she had staunchly refused, and had finally been discharged but on mandatory bed-rest. He suspected her cell phone had been lost amongst the wreckage of the car, and without it he couldn't contact her. Going there was out of the question, she was likely to be forever surrounded by friends and unhelpful family members.

When he had seen the car being towed into the only mechanic in town he had had to hold onto his cane. It looked a wreck, the metal twisted into jagged shapes. He wondered how a tree or two could have done that to a car, probably something to do with how fast Mr March had been going, apparently because he had been afraid of missing curfew.

Idiot boy. He'd show him fear.

With the information he had thought he'd regain some of his calm, but all he could hear was talk of stitches, of his precious girl trapped and afraid inside the upside-down car, bruised and coughing and the fact that he hadn't been able to be with her. In the eyes of everyone in town he was but her employer, nothing more.

Friday found him morose and listless. Bae, who had been fussy the night before, was already fast asleep by eight, in spite the fact that drunk Leroy and that insipid school teacher Blanchard had rung his belle twice already to try and shove some candles at him. From the fucking nuns.

He poured himself a drink but didn't have the heart to touch it. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, worry gnawing at him at all hours of the day but especially in the night, when he only had his thoughts for company.

The bell rung again, and he checked to see it was ten o'clock. He was all but ready to threaten Miss Blanchard and that old drunkard with eviction if they so much as glanced at his doorbell. He opened the door wide, an insult on his lips when his eyes did a double take and he froze.

Belle.

She had a powder-blue coat on, the hood obscuring most of her features, but he could see her bright blue eyes staring at him, her lips parted.

"Malcolm" she sighed his name and hearing her voice felt like heaven.

"Belle" he moved a hand to grasp her shoulder, feeling her warm and real beneath his hand. He ushered her in, noticing it was too dark and the area too deserted for anyone to have seen her. He locked the door securely behind him before turning to see her in the artificial light of his foyer. He gently lowered her hood, inhaling sharply when he saw the neat row of stitches marring left side of her forehead, the bright red of the wound contrasting with her pale skin. She had a healing bruise on the right side of her jaw and scratches on her neck and collarbone, most likely from broken shards of glass. He traced his fingers just above most of those tiny scratches, afraid to touch her, to hurt her. Finally she seemed to have enough, shrugging her coat off and practically jumping into his arms.

It was all it took to shake the pawnbroker out of his haze. He clutched her close, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her scent. She was alright. She was warm, and soft and whole, and everything else would heal with time.

He didn't realize he was muttering her name over and over again till she shushed him, petting his hair and caressing his back.

"I'm sorry I scared you. I'm fine. I'm here. Everything's okay now" she crooned into his ear, and it helped, to have her talking, so she kept at it for a while. Feeling suddenly foolish because, really, he should be taking care of her, he ushered her to the living-room, where he made her sit in the couch and let him have a good look at her. She appeared to be fine, if not for the slight injuries, her colour good and her eyes sharp and focused. He offered her something to eat, something to drink, a pillow, a blanket, anything really.

"I'm alright, Mal. Honest" she rolled her eyes at him and he narrowed his.

"I'll be the judge of that, dearie" he willed himself to sound and cool as possible "Now, off with your sweater"

She gave him a slightly surprised look but, seeing he was not about to be distracted by coy remarks or any form of teasing, she complied. Her arms sported fading bruises too, and some scratches. He lightly touched every single one, as if compelled to do so by an unseen force. They were minor injuries, laughable in the face of what it could have been, but they chilled him to the bone still.

"I heard mention of, and you must excuse the language, my dear, a fuckton of stitches. This" he waved one of his hands in the general direction of her forehead "doesn't qualify as a fuckton. Where's the rest?"

"There's a gash on my back that required some stitches" she replied. Seeing his distressed look she felt compelled to add "It's not very big, I swear"

He still looked queasy and pained so she let out a huff and turned around, quickly slipping her tank top off before her could protest.

"See?" she motioned to her lower-back where, indeed, there was a line of neat stitches amidst a veritable ocean of creamy skin. Gold's eyes widened, his hands trembling as he barely brushed the tips of his fingers against the injury.

"It looks… angry" he rasped out, his eyes focusing less on the gash and more on the small moles on her back which formed, ironically the Southern Cross constellation when joined together.

"It's healing, but it forces me to sleep on my side or face down" she replied before turning back to look at him, apparently forgetting she was only wearing a pale pink lace bra. Gold, on the other hand, was acutely aware of that particular detail.

"Anywhere else?" his mouth was dry, and a part of his brain, a big, loud part, was berating him for even thinking about Belle in a sexual way when she was hurt (not to mention still seventeen). But his instincts shouted other things, sinfully pleasant ideas about what a man could to with a skin so easily marred, so ready to mark.

She nodded at his question and, when she saw the need to see in his eyes, untied the string that kept her yoga pants from falling off, rapidly discarding them on the floor and hesitantly extending her right leg to gingerly lay it across his lap. The gash that ran along her calf was the longest, but it looked to be a more superficial cut than the rest, a slight curved line that disappeared before reaching the back of her knee. There were also bruises, which looked rather painful and he realized that, surely, Belle would be forced to limp for a while. The thought itself was horrifying to him.

"Oh, Belle" he bent his head at the same time he lifted her leg and gently placed his lips on the base of the cut, moving upwards with slow, careful movements. He heard Belle's breathing become laboured, and felt her tremble, but it was obvious no part of her was objecting to his actions.

"It doesn't hurt so much, really" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. His hands somehow moved up her leg, past the safety of her knee and into the warm skin of her right thigh and she moaned her approval. He promised himself he would stop in a few minutes, but he needed to touch her, to feel her just for a moment. A fleeting moment.

"I went to see you at the hospital but your father forbade me to get anywhere near your room" he told her, still placing kisses on her calf and skimming his hands across her thighs "I tried, love, but I couldn't get to you. I'm sorry"

She sighed, petting his mane of hair with loving fingers.

"I woke up in pain and confused and scared. The doctors told me they had called my father and wanted to know if I wanted anyone else with me. I wanted to so much to tell them to call you I had to bite my lip to make sure I didn't say your name by mistake" she confessed "I laid there for hours while they shoved lights into my face, took tests and stitched me up, daddy fluttering around the room hopelessly… He isn't good with hospitals or sick people. They remind him of mom's frequents hospitalizations. He means well, but he wasn't really helping. I knew you'd have been calm and collected, at least putting on a stoic front for me, being brave for me"

"I'm not brave, dearie" he corrected her before returning his mouth to the task of kissing every single bruise on her leg several times.

"Of course you are. You're the man I love, I know you"

Belle's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands, refusing to believe she'd just blurted out what she had. Gold grew still beside her, his hands still gripping her leg firmly and his hair hiding his face from her.

"What did you say?"

He snapped his head up, his eyes focusing on hers immediately. Belle swallowed but didn't look away. She felt relieved she had said it, and she wouldn't deny it even if he gave her the chance.

"I love you" she said clearly, enunciating each word with care "I've loved you for a while now, actually"

She dared him to say he didn't love her back, to dismiss her confession simply because it was the easy path to take. He carefully set her foot down on the floor and, when it appeared he was about to pull back, to put distance between them he lunged at her, taking at the same time extreme care to place his knees at the side of one of her thighs on the couch so as to not press against any injury by mistake. He kissed her long and hard, one hand plunging into her hair, titling her head to a side so he could properly devour her whole. It was a desperate kiss, but at the same time one meant to convey something, both forceful and gentle at once, vulnerable and domineering.

"I love you" he growled into her mouth "I loved you before I knew you" he nipped at her lower lip, sighing in relief when she parted her mouth for him "I've always loved you"

She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling closer when it was clear he was too afraid to hurt her to properly plaster himself against her. The hand not in her hair landed on her lace-covered hip, the fabric of her boy-shorts warm against his palm. The hour was late, and she didn't belong here with him, at least not yet. He needed to be responsible and controlled and…

Belle, with great effort, pulled away from Malcolm, her mouth trailing kisses up his jaw and all the way to his ear.

"Mrs Shoeman is in Boston. Some sort of major bridge tournament. Dad is on his annual fishing trip after I tricked him into thinking Ruby was gonna keep an eye on me. She thinks I told him that to get him off my back, he's been rather smothering this past week"

He tried to see why she was suddenly talking about her landlady and her father but his mind was foggy and he couldn't make the connection. Finally she took pity on him, grasped his face in her hands and spelled it out to him:

"I don't have to go back to my apartment tonight"

He made some kind of guttural noise more befitting an animal than a human.

"Dearie, you mustn't say such things" he practically whined, his body tense. His last shreds of self-control were evaporating in front of his eyes and he was helpless to do anything but beg her to see reason.

"All I could think of while trapped in that damn car for hours was that it could have been worse and my one regret would've been not being with you" her voice sounded both strong and weak, like she was fighting back tears "And that scared me to death"

He kissed her hard then, his tongue caressing every single crevice of her mouth, memorizing her for posterity. There was to be no more waiting, no more denying. Belle wanted him, and wanted him know, and he'd give her anything and everything she ever desired. Suddenly he was so very glad Bae was out like a light.

She managed to remove his jacket while he was focused on kissing the soul out of her body, and it joined her sweater and yoga pants. Her nimble fingers made quick work of his silk tie and the first buttons of his shirt but fumbled when he pressed the knee between her legs against her core and she let out a startled groan that filled him with satisfaction. His fingers found the remaining buttons and soon his purple stripped shirt was off him, along with his plain white undershirt. He paused when he saw Belle's eyes focus intently on her chest and he fought the self-conscious feeling that stole over him. He might not be young, or extremely fit, but he was lean, with sinew muscles that he knew where not unpleasant to look at. Belle splayed her hands across his belly, moving them up his chest and curving them around his shoulders.

"You're all quiet strength and hidden power, aren't you?" her voice was breathy, mesmerized, and he dropped his head back, letting her explore him at will. She soon replaced her hands with her mouth, tentatively tracing his collarbone with her tongue and, after some slight hesitation, dipping down to circle one of his nipples, causing him to almost jump out of his skin. She immediately pulled away.

"I'm sorry! Did I do something wrong?"

It was only then that Gold remembered that Belle was inexperienced. Totally inexperienced.

"Oh, no, dearie, you did something extremely right" he replied, trying to clear his head. He was supposed to be the one gently guiding her, trying to make this as pleasurable for her as possible. He had been fooled by her assertiveness and previous lack of shyness, but even her innate bravery wouldn't completely eradicate her nervousness. He kissed her again, letting her get comfortable with the situation again while his hands touched her fleetingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time, noticing how she grew more and more relaxed under his caresses, again slipping her arms around his now bare shoulders and absentmindedly tracing patterns against the skin of his back with the tip of her nails.

His right thigh was still pressing against her centre and he itched to remove his pants and her underwear to feel her bare against his skin. He settled for rubbing her through both layers of fabric and she mewled into him mouth, kissing him more eagerly. It was lovely and heady but also a situation that couldn't last, since his lame knee was starting to scream in agony. Taking care not to jostle her or hurt her he turn them around settling against the couch as she straddled him. He was afraid the position would make her nervous so he made sure to keep gently touching her, distracting her.

"You feel wonderful, love" he whispered against her throat as he nipped at it "Skin like silk, warm and soft and ever so sensitive" he bit down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, where a long time ago he had left his mark and was pleased when she unashamedly arched her back and threw her head back, gasping "You feel like heaven" he sighed "I bet you taste like heaven too. Will you let me taste, Belle?"

She nodded eagerly without knowing really what he was asking of her, but it quickly became clear when he unhooked her bra and tossed it away, uncaring that it landed atop his old cello, and lowered his face till his mouth closed around her nipple like her had not so long ago. He sucked, softly at first and more vigorously when she scraped her nails against his shoulder in obvious approval. He paused to direct his attention to her neck, were she had once sported his love bite. He wanted to see it again so he latched his mouth onto her skin and sucked harder that he had minutes before adding his teeth into the mix, worrying the skin with patience and care. She was hurt all over, but this was pain she welcomed. Pain she wanted. Pain she was demanding, tugging on his hair and pressing him closer.

He stopped when he sensed it was enough, and laved at the newly-formed bruise with his tongue, thinking it the most beautiful sight in the world. He turned his attention back to her breasts, showering them with teasing butterfly kisses till she was whining and squirming above him.

"Mal" she groaned, not loud enough for him, but they had Bae to consider. The poor boy did not need to think his papa was murdering his nanny in the middle of the living-room.

He latched onto the nipple he had mostly ignored, using not only suction but also his teeth and tongue to worship it. Belle grinded herself against his thigh and it was then that Gold decided he had had enough of his pants. While still sucking on her nipple and while one of his hands kneaded her other breast he set to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants one-handed, managing not only to pull it off but also to wiggle out of them while not perturbing the nubile brunette atop him. The trousers pooled at his feet and he kicked them swiftly under the couch. He gave Belle time to pause and admire his newly-revealed nudity (nakedness only a pair of boxers and socks away), letting her get used to it.

"This okay, love?" he asked, his hands on either side of her hips, kneading the flesh there. She shook her head, smiling at him before getting off his lap and sinking to her knees beside him. Malcolm almost had a heart attack, her new position hinting at things he was not going to be able to stand, at least not for the time being. He felt deliriously relieved when she merely removed his socks, her eyes firmly not looking at his obviously-tented boxers, a fact he appreciated. He wasn't sure he could come just from her staring at his covered cock, but he was not willing to find out.

When she stood up, moving to straddle him again, he stopped her.

"I need to take care of your properly, love, before you're back anywhere near my pelvis" he explain, trying to conceal the effort it took to stand up. He guided her to the dining-room, where his mahogany dinner table occupied most of the space. He gestured for her to sit atop it, near the head, while he sunk on his usual chair, instructing her to place her feet on its armrests. Finally he brushed the back of his hands against the lace that hid her from him, a silent request to remove it. She nodded, resting her weight against her arms, knowing laying her back against the cool wood would prove to be rather painful. It seemed like he took forever to take her shorts off but she felt at last his tongue between her folds and, contrary to what she had thought, it felt wonderful. The idea of oral sex had never appealed to her, at least not in theory, but all her previous prejudices and misconceptions went flying out the window the moment he first lapped at her. His hands were a solid weight against her things, coaxing her to open up to him as much as possible without forcing her to do anything.

When she felt his teeth against what had to be her clit she cried out, a hand leaving the surface of the table to tangle in his hair, pulling him close.

"Oh, God" she muttered.

"Not quite, dearie, but thanks for the compliment" he replied, the vibrations of his voice doing wonders for her sensitive nerve-endings. When she came it was almost a surprise, like her orgasm had snuck up on her and she was grateful for Malcolm's firm hands steading her as she rode her climax, feeling her while skin blush and a sheen of sweat form everywhere on her body.

He stroked her thighs, letting her calm down and get her heart-rate under control.

"You do taste wonderful" he told her before kissing near her knee.

"Really?" she sounded surprised and hopeful and adorably innocent and it only made him harder than he already was, which he hadn't thought possible. She jumped off the table and took his hands to entice him back to the couch. She kissed him softly when they got there and gave him a look that made it clear what she wanted.

"You sure, love?" he asked one last time. She deserved it.

Belle nodded and Malcolm gently manoeuvre her till she was lying on the couch, her back propped against the arm of the couch so her lower back didn't make contact with anything and also so she'd be able to brace herself properly. The piece of furniture wouldn't be ideal, but going upstairs to a bed was not an option at that point. She deserved it, but neither his leg nor his throbbing could would be able to take it.

Belatedly another issue presented itself in his mind.

"Protection" he blurted out when he was already half atop her sans his boxers "I don't… I mean, I haven't…"

She stopped him with a kiss.

"I'm on the pill" she muttered "For an unrelated issue"

He didn't press her any further, eagerly kissing her back in thanks before positioning himself so that his knees rested on either side of her, carefully putting most of his weight on his good knee.

"This might hurt, pet, I'm sorry. I'll try to be as gentle as possible"

She looked up at him trusting and open and happy, and he gently guided himself into her, trying not to notice her almost-unbearable tightness and concentrating on the emotions flickering on her face. She wiggled a bit as he sheathed himself in her, wincing once when he thrust sharply into her to eliminate the last barrier.

"It's done now, love" he assured her, reluctant to ask her to stop moving so much before he embarrassed herself. Fortunately she saw him still above her and followed his lead. When it was clear she was no longer in much pain he pulled away, thrusting almost immediately back in, satisfied when she seemed to catch on to the rhythm he was setting and mimicking him with sharp movements of her hips. Soon he was pulling back almost all the way before plunging back into her, letting her control the tempo and thanking God when she urged him to go faster. Following instincts the brunette wrapped her legs around his hips, hooking her feet on his lower back and pushing him deeper into her with every thrust. He was seeing stars, and knew he wouldn't last much longer. With the last of his energy he bent down to kiss her thoroughly, at the same time trailing a hand down her stomach to the place where his body joined hers, quickly locating her slick clit and capturing it between his thumb and forefinger. He pinched it once and, as if by magic, he felt her climax against him, sending him over the edge and into utter, perfect bliss.

He didn't know how much time they spent there, basking in the afterglow of their mutual orgasms, but at one point Belle shivered and it prompted Malcolm to move, slipping out of her and standing up to help her do so as well. It took time and effort on both their parts to make it upstairs, even with the aid of his cane, but Belle was hurt and she needed a bed, so there was no other choice. Soon he had her on her stomach, under the covers, naked and content and drowsy and he lay beside her, trailing his fingers across her upper back.

"G'night, Malcolm. Love you" she muttered before falling asleep, missing his own declaration of love and contented smile.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: This is part three of four... The fic just got longer. Sorry!**

* * *

Belle woke up sore in all number of places, and the first thing that came to her mind was the car accident. There had been a deer involved, and Gaston not managing to gain control of the vehicle after veering to avoid hitting the animal. Afterwards, when they had been waiting for help and she'd been trapped by the dented dashboard he'd apologized profusely till had been blue in the face, and it had been both sweet and slightly annoying. The hospital had been an absolute disaster, with her father hovering over her with a helpless expression, generally being in the way of doctors and nurses. Belle loved her father, she truly did, but she also resented, at times, his inability to take charge, especially in the face of an emergency when she needed him.

The rest of the memories came rushing back after that. Longing for Malcolm while in the hospital, getting back to her apartment, taking forever to get rid of her father and, finally, making her way to the Gold house. What she remembered next had her blushing and smiling, finally registering the warm body next to her, the lose arm draped across her back as she lay on her stomach, mindful of her injuries.

She stretched, feeling the cool brush of silk against her naked skin and blushed madly, half wanting to scramble for some type of clothing. She firmly pushed down the urge, wanting to get used to being so bare in front of Malcolm, since she planned on being like that a lot of the time around him. Taking advantage of the fact he appeared to be sleeping she took a good, long look at him, getting past the embarrassment and truly appreciating the sight in front of her. Mal was on his side facing her, the sheets pooling around his waist, the room comfortably warm despite of the autumn weather. His skin was pale, though not as much as hers, and he had a few faded scars here and there. She traced each one with care, curious about them but unwilling to disturb him to know. He looked peaceful, like she had never seen him before.

She realized he had woken up when the hand on her back started tracing soft, feathery circles on her skin, making her shiver.

"Good morning," she whispered, smiling and gently carding a hand through his hair, trying to make him see she was not panicking or regretting anything. He gently took hold of the arm she had stretched out toward him and kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Indeed," he all but purred in response before he opened his eyes and spotted a fading bruise on the underside of her arm. He remembered then the accident and her delicate state "How are you feeling, love?"

He sat up, his eyes scanning her all over, even going as far as pushing the sheets aside unceremoniously to inspect every inch of her body, probing with special care the row of stitches on her lower back. Belle was suddenly very glad she had gotten most of the embarrassment out before.

"I'm fine," she promised, sitting up to let him inspect the cut on her forehead, pleased by how his eyes seemed to be having problems looking anywhere other than her breasts. She finally took pity on him when he physically had to drop his hands on the mattress to keep from touching her in her "fragile state" and, in a fit of bravery that made her extremely pleased with herself, she took his hands and cupped her breasts with them.

"I'm fine. I'm not going to break if you touch me. I might go out of my mind of you don't, on the other hand."

With that she sat on her knees, with the added height allowing her to capture his lips with hers. It didn't take long for her tongue to gain access to his mouth and she lost herself for a moment in his taste, in the warmth of his skin against hers. She felt a bit sore down there but she'd rather die than admit it to Mal and have him stop his ministrations. Unfortunately a loud cry interrupted their enjoyment quite effectively.

"Bae's doing it on purpose," Mal growled against her mouth, gathering her close to him, unwilling to let her go "He wants you all to himself."

"He's a child," Belle replied, her tone faintly chiding "And he doesn't even know I'm here."

He devoured her mouth in reply, his hands roaming her back and taking care to thread carefully around her injuries. Finally, when Bae whimpered "Papa" through the monitor they pulled apart, panting.

"It's just as well," Gold said, pulling apart with difficulty "You must be sore in any case. Better to take it slow, love."

Belle pouted, sighed and got off the bed, quickly fishing a clean shirt from his closet. She accepted the pair of boxer shorts he handed her as well, shyly slipping them on.

"I'll pick up Bae, you start breakfast," she instructed him, going out into the corridor before he could protest. She entered the toddler's room, happy when he immediately ceased crying and just stared at her, wide-eyed and sucking on his thumb.

"Mama," he finally said, smiling and putting his hands up in her general direction.

"My darling boy," she cooed, picking him up and wincing when her body protested a bit "How are you today?"

Bae, usually talkative around her, merely cuddled close, burying his head in her hair. He had missed her, clearly, and was content with feeling her body heat and smelling her scent for the moment. She kissed his floofy hair, smoothing it down before manoeuvring the stairs with him firmly wrapped in her arms.

It was a struggle, once in the kitchen, to place Bae in his high-back chair taking into account the kid had all but latched onto her and refused to budge. Finally her many reassurances that she wasn't going anywhere and his gnawing hunger won and he disentangled himself from his nanny, looking none-too-pleased.

"I understand you, m'boy," his father told him, patting his head while Belle rolled her eyes. He cooked French toast for them and made a pot of Darjeeling to wake them up, sitting on the kitchen table next to her to eat so his side was plastered against hers, but otherwise making no particular demands. It soothed him to feel her warmth against his clothed arm, and was glad when she didn't pull away.

"You know, a girl could get used to this," she blurted out, the domesticity of the moment getting to her. He paused with his cup, the one she had chipped, halfway to his lips and looked at her, first with surprise and then with a hint of hope.

"A girl perhaps should," he replied as nonchalant as possible, digging into his breakfast and trying to pretend he didn't notice the wistful little smile on her face. It was Saturday and he knew he needed to open shop. Any deviation from the normal would result in suspicions and they both knew that, but he was reluctant to leave her side. The bruises still looked awful, worse in the morning light than what he had seen the night before and there was also the paralyzing fear of the regrets or second thoughts that might creep up on her when he was away. Finally she all but shoved him away, telling him that the sooner he opened the pawnshop the sooner he could close it.

It was quite a compelling argument, especially when topped by a slow, languid kiss. Belle laughed when they pulled apart only to see Bae covering his eyes with his hands, patiently waiting for them to be over.

"We're gonna ruin the boy," she joked, but all he heard in that sentence was the certainty she planned on kissing him often. He was sure he could convince Bae to be a good sport about it.

If he had thought he thought too much about Belle before that Friday night, he had been obviously mistaken. Hardly anything else seemed to be able to occupy his mind other than her... And Bae, of course, but thinking of his boy was second-nature to him the moment he had found out about his existence.

Half of him felt elated, free, and completely hers. He knew people would never see it like that. When they found out they'd assume he had brainwashed her or something, submitting her fragile young self to his domineering will. But the days following her stay at his house proved to him that he was willing to be all types of submissive with her, and it shouldn't have shocked him. He had, from day one, been led by Belle, enjoying every moment of it, mystified by the little sprite and her ability to render him a helpless little puppy.

He was surprised to see what it meant for their intimacy. Shyness, inexperience and all he was still hopelessly hers to command, an odd mixture of his utter infatuation with her and his constant fear of doing or saying anything that might drive her away turning him into her most willing servant, eager to please and to accommodate. He hated himself for it, wishing he could be stronger for her, but as powerful as he was in front of the rest of the town he could not be so with Belle. She didn't seem to mind, constantly snuggling close to him when she could and telling him how he loved him for letting her set the pace, for giving her control over what they did and when, like he was doing it for her.

The other half of him was in constant alert, trying to think rationally. He had enemies, first and foremost Madame Mayor, the odious Regina Mills, not to mention Storybrooke's DA, who was not very fond of owing Mr Gold favours. No one in the town really liked him, including Belle's father, so he considered them all potential threats to his little family. Belle might be his most beloved mistress, holding all sorts of power over him, but as the beast he was he'd protect her, and his boy, from anyone and everyone.

But not even his worry could make him cautions, sometimes, when he was anywhere near her. A night with her in bed had spoiled him as much as it had given him the strength to endure, to wait. It got surprisingly easy to become careless when she visited him at the shop after class before picking up Bae, turning an innocent brush of the lips on his back room into a frenzied coupling, the only resistance from him coming from the fact that she deserved something better, something unhurried and luxurious and not her barely-healed back pressed against a wall and her legs clinging to his waist as he all but pounded into her, helpless to resist her cries of "Harder, please!" and the choked moan she bit her lip to supress when he managed to hit something deep inside her that apparently she very much enjoyed.

He'd feel awful about it afterwards if she didn't all but glow, happiness radiating off of her in waves. She'd help him straighten out, demurely fixing her appearance as well, letting him arrange her hair so it didn't look tousled. Then they'd remain close together, silent, for a few minutes before she realized it was getting late and exited his shop after a brief kiss.

He lived for those days that got him going. The evenings at home were also a pleasant experience, but there was not always sex, as incongruous as it sounded. Sometimes she'd sit on the couch and he'd rest his head on her lap, letting her card her fingers through his hair in soothing patterns. It was a different sort of intimacy, one they had shared almost from the start of their relationship, that had been brewing since he had rushed to her school to yank her from class in order for her to fix his son because he was absolutely clueless about what Bae needed from him. He had been vulnerable, and she had looked after him at the same time she had cared for his baby boy. He hadn't known then, but that had been, in many ways, the point of no return.

So he let comfort and care and unbearable bliss erode at his paranoia and wariness. Belle's birthday was near and her graduation but a few months further away. After that, in the summer, they'd ease people into the idea that they were seeing each other. Show up at Granny's together, nothing shocking, merely having tea, and later move to a date at a restaurant or a stroll in the park arm in arm. He realized he wouldn't be able to move things along as fast as he would have wanted, but this thing he had with Belle was meant to be forever, so he needed to build the foundation right.

The first warning sign that things were not going as smoothly as he thought came the day of the Miner's Day fair. It was a meaningless town event but there were going to be a lot of children and it'd do Bae good to get out there and socialize. Belle had told him already that she would be helping Ruby sell her grandmother's pies and cobblers like every year, which was just as well.

"Next Miner's Day we'll go together. You'll buy me cotton candy and we'll take one of Granny's pies for dessert later in the evening," she told him while they cuddled together, stark naked, on the couch. After that night they had spent in bed they had silently agreed never to be in bed together again. It'd make things harder on the both of us since she couldn't risk staying overnight again. Belle didn't seem to mind much to lie splayed over his dining-room table like she was dinner, quickly learning how to best perch her feet on the back of his chair while he all but ate her whole, wondering if he'd ever get tired of her. The couch was their other favourite place, mostly because it had been there that they had first made love. Gold was pretty sure he'd never be able to let other people sit in it and thanked his lucky stars he never had anyone over.

The day of the fair dawned lovely if a bit nippy and he opened his shop during the day till midday, when he closed up to pick up Bae and feed him before bundling him up and reluctantly heading towards the town square, were people were already milling about, looking at the games and other stalls. A group of nuns shied away from him almost immediately, which pleased him as much as it seemed to puzzle Bae, who waved at them as they practically fled in horror. He reluctantly bought Bae balloon animal in the shape of a whale, which the little boy stared at, fascinated. He even called it "Bo" and proclaimed it his new best friend, cuddling it close while trying to be careful. Gold simply contented himself with looking every now and then to make sure Bae didn't gnaw at the shiny plastic contraption.

The square was pretty crowded, but with the stroller he managed to plough throw most crowded stalls. He passed near Granny's little nook, watching Belle and Ruby smile as they handled orders and tipped his head in their direction, trying to look like he was absolutely not having sex with either of the pretty teenagers. The afternoon dragged on and on, Bae mostly gripping his new friend Bo while he saw the people walk around. He had never been exposed to crowds, but he was doing better than he expected. He still shied away when someone brave enough to approach the pair of father and son bent over to coo over the child's innate cuteness, and Gold allowed it for a moment before sending the person scurrying away with a look or a gesture. Bae needed to be exposed to people, but only just.

He smiled at the mayor, a thin, tight-lipped smirk that no one would have ever catalogued as even remotely friendly and felt glad when she didn't move to approach them. He wanted her nowhere near his son if he could help it. Some children were running around, the product of careless parents taking the fair as some sort of opportunity to let their offspring roam around unsupervised, so he did his best to avoid them.

He was about to call it an afternoon when it happened. A bunch of careless teenagers grappling around in the middle of the crowd crashed against him and the stroller, sending Bae and himself crashing to the ground. Bo, the unfortunate balloon-shaped whale, popped when it got stuck between his son and the ground and for a moment no one moved. Bae was on the ground, dirty and holding the remnants of his newest friend, his ears ringing from the popping sound and his eyes huge, watery. The next moment he was crying, full, awful wails Malcolm hadn't heard in a long time. He hurried towards him, picking him up and standing up even without his cane.

"It's okay, Bae, it's okay" he muttered over and over, holding his child close and swinging him around as much as he could. People were staring at them, shamelessly drinking in the sight of Gold in such a private moment, voyeurs to the core. And then Bae started screaming.

"Mama. Mama. MAMA!" he bellowed over and over, kicking and punching his father, wanting to be out of his arms and into someone else's. Belle paled a few feet away, clutching at one of the columns of the stall to keep from running towards the child.

"Want Mama!"

Bae was getting even worse and there was no way of getting him on the stroller or safely out of people's sight, his knee making it impossible to walk more than two steps with a squirming child. Baden was surprisingly strong, and in any other situation that would have made Gold incredibly proud.

"Mama!"

Some people attempted to reach out to help, but the toddler was having none of it, and neither was the upset father. It was only when Gold noticed the tiny cut on his son's forehead that he looked directly at Belle, pleading with his eyes for her help. It was enough for the teenager. She crossed the small distance to where the parent and child were and the moment Bae saw her he reached up with his arms towards her:

"Mama," he said for all the world to hear "Hurt!"

"Oh, my darling boy," Belle crooned the moment she scooped him up in her arms, trying to pretend she couldn't hear the loud murmur of voices or feel all eyes on her "I'm here. Everything's going to be okay now."

She bounced him up and down to calm him down and almost immediately Bae's cries turned to sniffles and then into wet hiccups. He clutched at her, burying his tear-stained face in her hair and dirtying her t-shirt with his soiled hands, leaving hand-shaped grass stains. Gold stood beside them, staring the crowd down, daring anyone to make a single comment. He forced himself to quell the need to wrap both of them up in his arms. Finally, when the child seemed to be completely calm, he approached the pair, taking care not to touch or be too close to Belle while he lifted Bae's hair off his forehead and inspected the little cut he had there, worthy of nothing more than some disinfectant and a colourful Band-Aid, thank God.

"Well, well, that was certainly interesting," the smug expression on Regina's face was most unflattering in the pawnbroker's opinion and he struggled not to sneer at her, wanting to be as nonchalant as possible. Play it off as if his child calling his nanny 'mama' wasn't the big fucking deal it was.

"Frankly, dearie, I question your ability to maintain order in this sort of events. It was lucky this didn't end any worse," he replied, petting his son's hair into a semblance of order. Belle clutched the child closer to her, warily looking at the mayor.

"And frankly, Mr Gold, I am rather worried by the scene we all have just witnessed," she put on a concerned front, looking at Belle with a sort of motherly worry that made the girl want to take several steps back.

"Baden is bound to misunderstand some things," the teenager's voice was strong and calm "He picked up the word at the Day-Care centre and so far it's been difficult to get him to understand that it's wrong for him to call me that. We've been waiting for him to get a little older in order explain"

People were still staring, and the mayor looked a little too happy but Belle held her ground, holding the child close and refusing to lower her gaze. Gold gouged his options, wondering how best to get out of the sticky situation when a stutter voice broke the impasse. It was Dr Hopper.

"Yes, as Belle mentioned it's not such a farfetched situation. She asked me some time ago to do some research into the situation, see when the best time and way to explain to the child where his mother is and why she doesn't come to see him or is in any way a part of his life," he stuttered all the way through, but managed to sound professional and convincing. Belle fought to keep the unabashed relief and gratitude from her face. Archie was lying, which he was very much against, for her. To protect her.

"Is that so?" the mayor looked definitely not amused, like the good doctor had spoiled her fun, which she had.

"Yeah. I'm not infant psychologist, but I pulled some interesting articles from a variety of journals, if you cared to see."

Belle stomped the urge to gawk as her shrink bluffed like there was no tomorrow.

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. It's nice to hear though that you go out of your way to help your patients, Dr Hopper," her smile could cut glass, but the doctor still smiled back like it was natural. Soon Belle asked Granny, who had stepped close during the scene, for some alcohol and cotton and cleaned Bae's cut, gently covering the injury with a Band-Aid. The child, worn out by the crying, fell asleep quickly when placed on his stroller and, without lingering as he wished, Malcolm calmly walked back to his house, eager to bathe his son and have the day over with, ignoring the way Gaston approached Belle and wrapped an arm around her waist, ready to play the dutiful boyfriend who was in no way suspicious of his girlfriend. It served a purpose, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

* * *

The incident made them much more cautious for a while, and they cut down on a lot of personal time in order for Belle to have more of an outgoing life and dispel any notions of her spending a little too much time at her job. Some of the time she spent it with Jefferson supervising Page, Ava and the other girls their age at a play date or a party. The rest of her time outside work she hang with Ruby when she wasn't with Gaston. She could tell the waitress was itching to ask about her relationship with Gold, but respected her unwillingness to talk about it, so the only words about the incident they exchanged consisted of Ruby sighing and commenting on how manly Archie had looked staring the mayor down.

"Ask him out already," Belle prompted, mystified as to why her friend never even flirted with the psychologist.

"No way, Belle. Guys like him don't go for girls like me"

It made no sense, but Ruby wouldn't budge.

The day Belle turned eighteen Gold was adamant that she spend it with her family and her "boyfriend", let new suspicions arise. Though it made their affair above the reproach of the law the people would still see it as little better than rape if they were ever caught, and so they would need to wait till summer, four months away. It didn't make it any easier, the removal of one barrier. On the contrary it made it all the more tempting to slip up and give in, to be a little more careless. Malcolm even felt tempted to throw caution to the wind and gift her a ring and all that went with it, but knew that he would hardly be able to keep his hands off her if he did that.

He gave her a lovely diamond pendant, tiny and elegant dangling from a delicate gold chain, and seeing her wearing it every day gave him a strange mixture of pain and pleasure.

* * *

It was a few days later that Gold found himself with a lapful of Belle in his workshop in the middle of the day. His self-control needed those little moments of letting go to last, and he always made sure to lock all the doors when it was clear he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. She had been going out with Gaston a lot more as of late and though he never doubted her fidelity (or Gaston's preference for male company) it still gnawed at him, that voice inside, that sounded suspiciously like the mayor, taunting him with his inability to stake his claim on Belle and hers on him and tell the rest of the town to fuck itself for all he cared. He felt powerless, constrained, and it brought about a feeling of inadequacy he had thought gone the moment he had divorced his wife. Belle had known he was in a bad mood and had eagerly welcomed his arms when he wrapped them around her, tugging her down to where he sat, urging her to straddle him and humming in pleasure when she ground her hips against his, the movement both artless and calculated. Soon he was lost in the smell of antiques and Belle, in the feeling of her skin as he peeled her blouse off of her, joining her crumpled pants on the floor of his work-room.

She removed her bra and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, laughing into their kiss when she managed to tear a button off in her haste. He was about to tell her to slow down, pointing out they had enough time when he heard the gasp and his blood ran cold in his veins.

"You perverted fuck!" Moe French stood in the doorway, red in the face and pointing, his attention focused on Gold and not on his half-naked daughter, who almost jumped out of her skin when she heard her dad's voice.

"Dad, get out!" she shrieked, embarrassed and scared beyond belief, wanting to fish out her clothes but afraid to move lest she show more than her father had already seen.

"Like hell I will! I will not let you another moment alone with this freak, this monster who thinks he can fuck my little girl and get away with it!"

Gold wrapped his arms around the shaking girl in question, trying both to soothe her and to keep her as covered as possible. Belle was reaching hysteria, yelling at her father to go away while French yelled at him to let go of his daughter. Finally he had enough.

"Mr French you will wait for me outside while Belle makes herself presentable. If you are not out of here in five seconds I will personally confiscate your little flower shop and van. With your poor track record at repaying loans I am within my rights to do so."

The florist turned purple, grinding his teeth together and starting attempting to make some sort of rebuttal that never made it past his lips before he turned around and stalked to the front of the shop, leaving the lovers alone. Belle still trembled, holding onto Gold fiercely before letting go to dress herself hastily while he followed suit. The moment they were somehow covered she launched herself into his arms, mumbling apologies.

"No, pet, no, don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong. I'll fix this, never you worry." he kissed her hair, willing her to calm down, and stepped out into the shop.

Moe French was gone.

"We gotta find him" Belle said beside him "Before he does something stupid"

"He's your father, dearie, I doubt he very much will wish to shout this at the top of his lungs in the middle of the town square" Gold knew French remembered his threat and hoped he'd be smart enough to take it to heart "You go home and I'll look for him, make him see reason. It'll be alright, pet"

"I want to talk to him," she looked at him in the eye, determined.

"Belle, I hate to say this, but he's likely to blow you off at this moment. He's thinking about you as his little girl, likely lured into some sort of illicit affair by a manipulating older man. We both know that's rubbish, but to him that's how it's going to look. He won't listen to you, love," he willed her to understand that he saw her as anything but a little girl, but that her father would. Finally she nodded, kissed him one last time for reassurance and they both exited the shop. No sooner has they been ready to part ways a few blocks later than the only squad card in Storybrooke stopped noisily beside them, Moe French exiting from the passenger side of the front seats while Graham got off on the other side.

"There he is, arrest him. I caught him in the middle of the act with my little girl. Arrest him, damn it!"

Graham looked both sombre and awkward.

"I've told you before, Mr French, I can't. Your daughter is eighteen, it's legal," he tried to reason with the man while avoiding looking at Gold or Belle altogether, clearly not approving no matter how legal it was. People were soon attracted to the florist's booming voice as he again and again demanded the sheriff cuff the pawnbroker, while Gold gritted his teeth and urged the idiotic man to keep his voice down.

"I've told you a thousand times, Mr French, your daughter is eighteen. Unless it wasn't consensual it's not illegal," Graham's Irish brogue deepened as he shouted to be overheard over Moe's own ravings, and it soon became clear to the onlookers what had transpired to get the portly man in such a state. Belle still looked a bit mused, her hair a bit wild and her shirt rumpled, and Gold looked equally dishevelled. What had started as an unfortunate situation that could be salvaged with enough finesse had officially become hopeless.

Everyone would soon know every sordid little detail. It was a small town rule.

Gold's priority became Belle, who was frozen beside him, obviously understanding that they had just been outed to the entire town. He took her by the shoulders, willing her to look at him and when she did so he pushed her towards the sheriff.

"Take her home. She doesn't need to be exposed to all this. Just be sure she gets to her apartment safe. And I suggest you keep your questions to yourself, sheriff, unless you want your own dirty laundry exposed for all the inhabitants of this quaint little hamlet to see."

The younger man nodded, being more gracious than most in the face of a threat, and gently ushered Belle inside the car, giving a warning look to both men before he took off. Gold resisted the urge to give into the satisfaction of beating Moe French senseless with his cane, knowing he needed as many answers as possible if he was to know what had happened. Something didn't quite add up and he needed to know why. He pushed the taller man against the side of a building, crushing one of his feet with his cane and thus ensuring he stayed put.

"Now, you stupid man, before I set out to punish you financially for the rest of your life you will answer me this: How did you get into the shop? I locked the door, I'm sure of it," Gold's voice was deceptively calm and all the more frightening for it. The florist struggled uselessly for a moment, seeming to lose some of his fighting spirit in the presence of a very pissed off Gold. He held out longer than expected, though, but finally took out a key from his pocket and shoved it at the pawnbroker.

It was unmistakeably one of the mayor's skeleton keys, a dull black and heavy in his hand.

"She put you up to this," it was not a question but French nodded anyway.

"She told me of her suspicions, which had been mine for quite some time. I told her of your threats but she made me see that a real man would protect his little girl. She made me see I needed to confront you, see if it was all true and get the sheriff involved if it was. Get him to drag you in cuffs from the street like the garbage you are."

Gold pressed the other man harder against the wall, one unwitting comment away from breaking most of the man's bones.

"You idiotic fool," he hissed, barely containing his anger "Don't you realize what you've done? What you allowed the mayor to con you into doing? You've flaunted Belle's personal life in public. Whatever the mayor thought, she knew it was consensual. She knew Belle was over eighteen... She knows the law of the state, knew Graham couldn't so much as touch me. She never meant for him to arrest me. She meant for you to make a scene in the middle of a crowded street thus exposing your daughter's personal affairs to the whole damn town in an effort to hurt me."

He let Moe go, making a disgusted moue as the portly man slumped to the floor, shaking, his eyes wide with the realization that Mr Gold might just be right. He left him alone, pick himself up and go back to his little flower shop when he was ready. In the meantime he needed to think about Belle, about what the best course of action was. His first act was to pick up his son, Bae picking up on his father's strange mood and being quiet and obedient as they walked home. There he took he called for a locksmith from outside town, arranging to have him come and change the locks at both his house and his shop bright and early on Monday. Then, as soon as he had hung up he dialled another number, his fingers shaking.

"Mal?" Belle's voice sounded hoarse and small at the same time, and it broke his heart "I'm so sorry, Mal. This is all my fault."

He shushed her over the phone, muttering over and over that she hadn't done anything wrong, that their current situation was but a fleeting problem, that things would work out.

"I know it's not quite how we imagined doing it, love," he finally said "But it's done, and we can only move forward. The gossip will die down. We might have to lie low for a while, but in the end people will get used to the idea of us. Soon we'll be like any other normal couple."

She chuckled, and the sound made him sigh in relief. She was strong, she'd be okay.

"Mrs Shoeman knows, by the way. I told her. I wanted her to know from me... Is it bad that I wanted to tell her but not my father?"

He hadn't realized it, but Belle was rather attached to Adele, the kindly old woman who served as her landlady. Good, he thought. She'd need as many people on her side as possible. They talked for hours, Malcolm unwilling to let her go till he was certain she wasn't putting up a brave front for him and that she was alright. He was unwilling to admit he was mostly soothing his own frayed mind, making sure Belle was in no way backing away from their relationship. As much as he hated having her have to go through this ordeal, it certainly beat the alternative, which was to go back to being a lonely man giving out under the weight of his many inadequacies, ready to resort to fear as the only way of interacting with others.

He understood the importance of not shutting himself away, of showing the town he did not care for their idle gossip or their small-minded judgements, but he still spent the rest of the weekend with Bae, safe inside his house, and calling Belle every two seconds, pleased to hear her welcoming voice when he did. He discussed with her the possibility of not going to school on Monday by she was dead set on not missing a day of school, knowing it'd give the impression that she thought she'd done something to be ashamed of.

"Gaston will be there, it won't be so bad," she soothed him when it was apparent he was fretting over her "He's been very good about this, actually."

For once the idea of the big, dumb lug following her around calmed him down. He knew he couldn't be there for her, but Gaston, dumb jock that he was, could and would. If he managed to keep her relatively safe he'd even refrain from doing him harm over the little incident involving Belle and a certain car.

She came to his home after class, deciding that it would only be admitting guilt to deviate from their routine. He had called the three busybodies who run the Day-Care Centre in advance, threatening them with eviction if they even looked at Belle funny. He then forced himself to wait till closing time at six lock up the shop and make his way home, at the most sedated pace he could.

When he got home he found them, his little family, in the living-room, playing with stuffed animals. She didn't move from her spot on the floor, but titled her head up and smiled at him. He could see her eyes showed signs of poor sleep but her smile was radiant, filled with the same amount of love than before. He knew then she would never resent him, come what may. Belle was made of stronger stuff than even he had thought.

They were going to be alright in the end, he was sure of it.

* * *

In the end sounded well and fine but it looked far away, and the now was starting to feel endless. The entire town seemed to have nothing better to do that follow him with his eyes wherever he went. Grocery shopping became a sort of ordeal, as did almost everything else. People shunned his shop which, really, was nothing new, except when necessity compelled them to deal with him. The nuns looked at him with even more disapproval when he collected the rent or passed him on the street. Very few businesses in town would serve him with any sort of consideration, most people only being civil on account of the fact that he owned their homes and shops.

He cared little for his alienation, it didn't feel much different than before, to be honest. But above all he made sure Bae was never treated badly, especially since he had to leave him with the town's most awful gossips for hours on end. Belle, on the other hand, was trickier. She had made it clear from day one she didn't want him threatening anyone or causing much of a scene on her account. He knew she was having a hard time at school, he could only imagine how cruel senseless teenagers could be, and he strived to make sure at least the teachers behave, going behind her back when it proved to be necessary.

He hadn't asked about her father, but he gathered they were not on speaking terms at the moment. Actually Belle was on speaking terms with very few people, mostly Ruby, Adele Shoeman, Jefferson (unfortunately), Dr Hopper and Granny, though the last one looked at her funny when Belle was not watching. The Inn and Gold's house soon became the only safe places for her, away from the curious leers and pernicious whispers. They talked of Belle as if she was a victim, most feigning sympathy and pity for her when what most felt was something more akin to morbid curiosity and more than a hint of disgust.

But she persevered, put on a brave front, a smile in front of his little boy and whenever she caught him staring at her with trepidation she kissed the crown of his hair and whispered that it'd all blow over soon enough. The town was small and the scandal quite impressive, but people would soon get tired of it.

"Then we'll be the better for it. No easing people into anything, no waiting," she'd whisper in his ear before her lips landed on his neck and thinking became an impossibility.

She was right, of course. All they had to do was hang in there. In the mean time he'd make Belle as happy as he could. With that in mind he made a detour on his way home one night, to pick up a pie at Granny's. She made a raspberry one that Belle loved, so it seemed like the perfect little gesture to brighten up her day in case it was necessary. The diner was deserted, which was a bit unusual, so he trudged on, going out the back to fish out the old woman to purchase the desert. Ruby and her grandmother were cleaning the back area that on warm nights served as an outdoors eating place. He was about to interrupt them when he heard Granny mention Belle.

"How's she really doing, Ruby?"

"Better than I would under all the strain, that's for sure," the scantily-clad waitress sighed "She truly does love him, grams. For what is worth. And from the way she talks about him I believe he cares about her deeply too."

The old woman wiped down the patio tables with brisk movements.

"I don't doubt Belle's in love. She'd have to be, to take the abuse she is at school and distance herself from her family like she did... And, as far as Gold goes, who knows what goes on in his head."

"Well, maybe they can be happy. When this blows over, I mean. Maybe he does love her and they'll get to be together in peace."

For all her flirty ways and casual approach to dating it seemed that little Miss Lucas was more of a romantic than most would have thought.

"If he cared for her he'd let her go," Ruby whirled to face her grandmother, hands on her hips and ready to defend her friend and her choices "Look, Ruby, I don't doubt Belle's brave and strong to overcome this. And people will lose interest eventually. But stop and think for a second: Belle's on her way to graduating with honours from high school. She's eighteen, with her life ahead of her. She's likely to get scholarships offers. You know she wants to apply to Amherst or Bates College, take baby-steps out of this place. She wants to see the world, to know other cultures, explore other places but instead she's gonna go from school to taking care of a baby and tying herself to a man that is at a different stage in life than her. She'll push her dreams aside out of love, and she'll regret it eventually. It'll fester in her, those unfulfilled dreams till they turn to poison. Belle deserves a chance to get out and see the world, study, be young and carefree. She won't get that with Gold or his little boy."

The pawnbroker had never hated anyone as he hated Mrs Lucas at that moment. Still hidden from view he retreated to the front of the diner and quickly exited it, willing the words he had heard to be forgotten. They weighted heavily on his mind, though, ringing true and feeling like acid inside of him. The rest of the afternoon, spent with Belle and Bae, he heard them every time he saw his two favourite people together, twisting into his gut when his boy called Belle "Mama".

The words kept him awake that night, and the next. The guilt weighted him down till it was hard to breathe, and harder to enjoy Belle's company. He loved her enough to fear he'd smother her, keep her from reaching for what she wanted. He hadn't really thought about it before, perhaps because he didn't want to come to the same conclusions the blasted widow Lucas had reached.

Finally the reality of the situation became too clear to deny it any longer. He armed himself with all his courage, and whatever scrap of selflessness he might possess and, once Belle had successfully put Bae to sleep, he took a deep breath and told her, in no uncertain terms, that they should stop seeing each other.

"I'm sorry?" she sputtered. The look on her face almost made him backpedal and apologize, take it all back and pretend he hadn't said anything. Almost.

"You heard me, dearie," he affected the calmest, most rational tone he could, knowing that if he showed any sort of emotion the "We have come to a parting of ways. It's as simple as that"

"But... but why?" the brunette's tone was still more disbelieving than anything, but hurt had begun to seep into her voice.

"I've come to the conclusion that an intimate relationship with you might cost me more than I thought at first. The town despises me right now, that's true and expected. But, in a few weeks or months, they'll get used to it. They'll see me stroll around with you and Bae, a happy family, and they'll think the beast has been tamed. They'll lose respect for me, Belle. They'll think me weak. They'll laugh at me, an old fool dating a sprightly little girl. They'll see me as some sort of besotted idiot. My job, my reputation... they'll never recover. My standing in this town can take me playing the villain, but not the love-sick fool"

He was very sure he'd never forget the look on her face. She stood there, as tall as her petite frame would allow her, strong and sure and trying to pretend her hands weren't shaking. Her eyes were glassy with tears unshed, and the dawning heartache in them warred with anger, confusion and a hint of love.

"What are you saying, exactly?" she finally asked, her voice barely wavering. He felt immensely proud of her and ashamed of himself at the same time.

"It's quite simple, dearie. My power means more to me than you"

The words tasted like ashes on his tongue, but he spoke them with enough conviction to be satisfied. He sounded like the utter bastard everyone in Storybrooke accused him of being, and he was infinitely pleased of that fact. He'd need all of his nastiness to fool Belle. She came closer and closer, stopping but a hairsbreadth from him. She looked at him dead in the eye, her head tilted up and her gaze unwavering.

"That's a lie" she said, no trace of hesitation or doubt "You were freeing yourself. I know it. You can't fool me, Malcolm, I know you," she took a deep breath "Something happened. I don't know what or when but something happened and you decided that it'd be best to break up, like it's your decision, like I have no say in this matter"

She was angry, and drew most of her strength from that.

"What about me? Do I have a say? Do I get to hear the true reason why you're breaking my fucking heart?" her voice rose, but never too high, for Bae's sake.

"Let's not be overly dramatical, dearie," Gold reached out to try and steady Belle but she pulled away.

"No. You don't get to pretend I'm being too emotional. You don't get to pretend I'm making a big deal out of this, like I mistook what we have. You're not telling me the truth about what'd going on, so at least grant me the common decency not to lie about..." she chocked up, but recovered quite swiftly "about us."

She wiped the tears threatening to fall from the corner of her eyes, never breaking eye-contact with him.

"Just tell me. Whatever it is, tell me, please," she sounded tired and sad, and for a moment it was ever-so-tempting to just give in and confide in her, about his realizations and fears, about him wanting her to have the life she deserved and feeling like he was weighting her down. But if he did that she'd refuse to leave him.

"I'm afraid I've already told you all there is to say," his voice was clipped, impersonal, like he was talking to one of the many desperate souls that visited him for a deal he was not interested in making "I'm sorry if it's not enough for you, dearie"

The word he kept repeating over and over, "dearie" instead of "Belle", or "love", or "pet", felt like a slap in the face and, coupled with the look he was giving her made her understand that, whatever had happened, there was no turning back. He was adamant.

"What about Bae?" she finally asked, a sort of finality in her voice. She'd try to rally later on, but for now she just wanted to make sure she could still see the little one.

"He'll get a new nanny. He will no longer be your concern."

"Excuse me?"

That snapped her out of her stupor fast. This was not happening. She wouldn't lose Bae.

"It will no longer be your job to care for him, dearie."

She slapped him, as hard as she possibly could, immediately feeling her wrist and palm burn in pain.

"Don't," Belle hissed at him, now truly mad "Just... don't. You can't... Bae, he is... Malcolm please...!"

"Let us not get confused, dearie. Bae's not your son. He's not yours in any capacity. Nothing ties you to him and whatever misconceptions you harbour about this must end now."

Belle paled, breathing heavily as she realized he was serious. He wouldn't let her see Bae. She sat down heavily on one of the two armchairs in the living-room, trying to breathe through the sudden panic that gripped her, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She felt him approach her, trying to lay a hand on her back but she roughly pushed him away. It was all too much, smelling his cologne and feeling his body heat as he cut her out of his life and Bae's for no apparent reason.

"Belle..." he tried to approach her once more, obviously concerned and it was the last straw for her. She stood up, quickly bolting to the door, blindly entertaining ideas of going home to her father's for the weekend, patching things up with him, trying to regroup. Maybe she would learn what had happened to make Malcolm dismiss her as he had, and then she'd give him a piece of her mind and force him to grovel for an apology.

Malcolm watched her go, digging his cane into the floor to keep himself from going after her. She'd be alright. Moe French would welcome her back with open arms. She'd finish school in a few months. She'd get a scholarship, go to college away but close enough to visit during holidays or weekends, probably meet some intellectual boy wonder to properly bring home to dad. Eventually she'd move away, see the world, settle down elsewhere. He'd be able to cope with parting with her in stages, watching her come into her own and grow strong enough to fly away. He'd be ready to let her go when the time came, and in the mean time he'd live vicariously through whatever little news of her he'd be able to glean from the people in town.

Bae... Bae would adjust. He was young, he'd eventually move on. He'd get him a new nanny and endure the child's moody disposition for as long as it lasted. Children adjusted all the time, and he'd help Bae do so. It was his fault, anyway, letting the kid get too attached to someone that was not really theirs to keep. He had been so focused on their relationship, his and Belle's, that he had never once taken into account what would mean for Bae. Now he had screwed up and his precious boy would suffer.

He'd make it right to him. One of them was going to be happy, and it was damn well gonna be Baden.

* * *

Sunday nearly a month later found Belle sobbing in bed, locked in her apartment. It had been a disaster. All of it. And her brain refused to stop reminiscing every single detail, from the disgust in her father's face to what he had shouted at her in the middle of a crowded street. He had seemed like a stranger to her, red-faced and still tipsy from his stay at The Rabbit Hole. She recollected a time right after her mother had died that her father had drunk pretty heavily almost every day. It had lasted a couple of months, and he had never relapsed since then, so she had thought it a phase. He hadn't been a mean drunk back then, merely a very depressing one.

The things he had yelled... half of those words Moe French wouldn't have been caught dead even whispering. Belle closed her eyes again and willed the images to go away, but the memories were only replaced by more depressing ones of her last talk with Malcolm.

Belle couldn't breathe. Two weeks of not seeing Bae had convinced her Gold had been serious about cutting her from the child's life. All attempts to contact him had been in vain too. He'd hung up when she called, had all but forcibly removed her from his shop the two times she had braved the journey and even visibly avoided her in public places.

School was impossible. She had no job, barely any friends and no family to crawl back to. Storybrooke was her home but at the moment she felt she couldn't breathe inside it, like the town was cursed and it was eating her up inside. She barely recognized herself any more. She hid in school, she locked herself away in her apartment the rest of the day and barely got out on weekends. Ruby called and called, and even attempted to visit, but she was in no mood to see anyone. The only one she ever really saw any more was Adele Shoeman, who insisted on feeding her as much as she could and rejecting any attempts at paying the rent.

It was Adela that found her curled up in a ball some hours later. She brought with her a tall glass of milk and some cookies and stroked back her hair in soothing patterns while she waited for Belle to be done crying.

"Everything's going to be alright, my dear," she said in a calm voice. Belle hiccupped, shaking her head.

"I don't know what to do. I just don't know."

The old woman patted her on the shoulder.

"It'll turn out fine, Belle. You'll see"

Two weeks later the news spread around Storybrooke quicker than wildfire: Belle French had, in the dead of the night, left town. No money to her name, as the bank teller would later on tell everyone. Most of her possession forgotten in her little flat, no tearful farewell to her father or thought about her graduation. She had told no one of her plans, not even Ruby, who had to learn of the news from her granny who had heard it from Adele Shoeman, her bridge partner. She wasted no time in throwing down her apron and asking for her break, stomping out of the diner and making the long trek to the outskirt of town, to knock on the door of the one house people avoided like the plague. She almost lost her nerve when faced with the imposing figure of Mr Gold, but her anger pushed her on, gave her courage to stand there and yell, yell like she had always wanted. Everything poured out of her at that moment, Belle's departure, her precarious condition, Gold's awful behaviour, it flowed out like water.

"I don't know what you did to her but she was never the same. She loved you! She was so happy! And your freaking boy, she adored that kid! You broke her. It's your fault, and only yours. Nothing, not even what her father did, affected her as much as whatever it is you did to her, you cowardly, selfish bastard," she paused to take a breath before finishing "You have no heart, no soul, and you'll die old and alone because that's all you deserve."

She turned around, walking as calmly as she could back to the dinner, trying not to think about the thousands of ways in which Mr Gold could make her and granny's life a leaving her. She heard the door swing shut behind her and knew that, miraculously, she didn't regret anything she had said. It had been the brave thing to do, and it was about time someone other than Belle was brave for a change.

* * *

The pawnbroker sat down, feeling numb, and with tired hands reached out for the nearest bottle of whiskey and an empty glass, pouring himself a generous amount of the amber liquid. Bae, his wonderful boy, patted his leg in a reassuring manner. His father's hand started petting his hair, ruffling it, but the toddler allowed it, knowing it made his papa feel better. The man looked ashen and devastated and a ruined hairstyle was a small price to pay to bring him any sort of comfort.

"She's gone, Bae," Gold rasped, head titling back and downing the drink in one. His fingers itched to hurl the glass across the room, but his little boy was beside him, so he quenched the urge, pressing his palms to his forehead instead and, when that was not enough, picking up Baden and cradling him close.

"Mama back?" the kid asked, settling against him.

"I think she's not coming back, my boy," his father replied, his voice trembling slightly. This hadn't been what he had wanted. He had done exactly what he had so this wouldn't happen and yet here he was, trying to explain to his two-year-old that he had driven the most important person in his life away. His mind drifted back to that moment at his home, to her tear-stained face and her pleas, which he had dismissed, convinced he was doing the right thing. It certainly didn't feel that way now.

She had no money. She was alone. He had no way of knowing how she was, or where she was. If she was okay, if she was healthy, if she needed help.

People would misunderstand, but he hardly cared. They would think she had run away in shame or in horror, driven away by the realization of just what kind of monster she'd been dealing with. They wouldn't pause to think of Belle's bravery, or her determination. They'd think her a child.

But then, hadn't that been his mistake as well?

Her father would pay for his role in this, as would the mayor, the first for whatever it was Miss Ruby had been talking about and the second for exposing them in the first place. It was a consolation prize, to take revenge, but it was all he had, and he'd cherish it. He'd make an art out of it, a life purpose. He'd make them all suffer, again and again, like he was.

"Mama back," Bae said next to him, no longer a question but an affirmation. He clutched something in his hand, a silver hairpin with three tiny turquoise flowers on one end. He held it close, thinking about the best place to store it for safekeeping.

After all, she'd be back for it. In the meantime, he was to keep it safe. He'd promised.


	4. Part Four

Emma Swan reached her "temporary" apartment with relief, glad the day was finally over. She went up the stairs and swung the front door open with a happy sigh, immediately collapsing on a chair by the dinner table, making a pleased sort of sound when her roommate deposited a steaming cup of chocolate with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon.

"Thanks, I needed this... Beats the whiskey I was gonna have if you weren't up," she thanked Mary Margaret, taking a sip of the chocolate and letting it warm her up. Her roommate waited for the blonde to be halfway through the drink to tentatively ask about her day.

"What kept you till one in the morning?"

The sheriff raked her fingers through her hair, exhaling rather loudly.

"Mr Gold beat a man almost to death in his cabin in the woods," she finally admitted "I... I wasn't expecting it, actually. I mean, sure, he's an utter bastard, but I didn't peg him for someone prone to physical acts of violence. He's more the sneaky type."

Mary Margaret nodded, agreeing with Emma. There was no question in anyone's mind that the pawnbroker was evil incarnate, a shadowy figure that delighted in making everyone in Storybrooke miserable or afraid, but he didn't seem like the type to get his hands dirty. Gold was the picture of calm, a man who held it together at all times, collected and cold when other people would lose it completely. There was nothing, nothing, that could ever provoke a reaction of that calibre in the dealmaker, nothing.

... almost nothing.

"Was the man he beat up Moe French?" Mary Margaret inquired, her eyes fixed on her own cup of chocolate. Emma looked up at her, suddenly very intrigued.

"Yes," she finally answered, knowing she was about to get a good insight on one of the de-facto rulers of the sleepy town "The florist. Gold took his cane to him, left him barely conscious. And... his face, you didn't see his face, the raw hatred in it. I'd never seen Gold display so much emotion."

"I bet," the schoolteacher replied, still reluctant to elaborate on what she obviously knew about the matter. Emma, unwilling to let it go, pressed on.

"He kept... repeating something. Something about a woman, about Moe shutting her out, abandoning her, hurting her. About her being gone," she looked at her friend dead in the eyes, completely serious "Come on, Em. What am I missing?"

Her short-haired friend bit her lip, and it was quite clear that she knew exactly what Mr Gold had been referring to. Finally, with a deep sigh, she began her story.

"Mr Gold has always been a bit... unsavoury. Always the scourge of the town, preying on the weak, uncaring and incapable of empathy or mercy. He owns two thirds of the properties around here, and he's always been a ruthless landowner, never forgiving a debt, or willing to re-negotiate a loan. He's always been despised, but he was not quite as ruthless as he is today."

"What happened?" Emma leaned forward, her curiosity getting the better of her "What changed him?"

"Belle French happened," Mary Margaret's voice wasn't accusatory, but it was a bit sad, nostalgic "She was Bae's nanny almost from the moment Gold gained custody of his boy four years ago. She had a talent when it came to dealing with children, and Baden was a rather complicated toddler, raised by an unloving mother and then thrust into the arms of a man he'd never met. Gold had trouble connecting with his son, but the boy took to Belle almost immediately. Gold hired her after trying a string of more experienced nannies, but soon came to rely on her heavily. At some point during that time, no one really knows when, things became... a tad more intimate."

The sheriff arched her eyebrows, trying to put "intimate" and "Mr Gold" on the same sentence.

"Moe French doesn't look very old. The age difference must have been considerable," she offered, having reached the natural conclusion that the florist was Belle's father. After all Gold had said something of the sort a few hours ago. Her friend snorted.

"She was seventeen when she begun working for Mr Gold," Emma almost choked on the sip of chocolate she'd taken "And eighteen when her father caught them in the act. She swore up and down that nothing had happened while she had been underage, and there was never proof of the contrary. Still, it was the town's biggest scandal, it was all people talked about for weeks."

"If that's so how come I'm hearing about this now?"

"No one mentions it anymore. Not after what happened."

"Which is...?"

"Well, no one knows really. Roughly a month or so after Moe French outed them to the entire town they stopped seeing each other. Apparently it was Gold the one to break it off, no one knows why. I mean, the gossip was beginning to die down, and there was no real reason that'd prompt him to do what he did but he simply told her it was over, dismissed her as Bae's nanny and refused to see her again. Ruby's still pissed by that. She's the only reason I know as much as I do, so please keep it quiet," Mary Margaret paused to take the empty mugs to the sink and rinse them before sitting back down "Anyway, Belle tried to mend fences with her dad, since she wasn't in a relationship he disapproved anymore but he went... ballistic. Called her every name in the book in the middle of the street, shunned her completely. A week or so after that she was gone. Just like that. In the middle of the night, with no goodbyes, not a clue as to where she was going. Her High School confirmed she had asked for her diploma early, she had more than enough credits to warrant an early graduation, but little is known other than that."

For a small town in the middle of nowhere Storybrooke had its fill of drama, Emma thought wryly. A torrid and forbidden love affair, a public scene of shame, a broken-hearted girl fleeing in the middle of the night only to never be heard from again.

"What happened afterwards?"

"Mr Gold... changed. We thought he was a monster before but it paled in comparison to how he's been ever since Belle's been gone. It was like, up until that moment, whatever evil was inside him was caged, and then suddenly it was let loose. He became... merciless. Amoral. Vindictive. He's been practically at war with Mayor Mills ever since, and delights in instilling fear and resentment in everyone. Baden is the only person who gets a civil word out of him, or a genuine smile."

Emma frowned, tilting her head to a side.

"I don't get it. He let her go, he practically threw her out, according to what you told me and yet... The man I saw tonight, it doesn't add up. It wasn't a man reminiscing about a past fling he'd ended some years ago. It was a man so miserable his only comfort seemed to be inflicting pain in others. He beat Moe French savagely, Mary, and he kept crying out about how he'd hurt her and that it was the florist's fault..." she closed her eyes, shaking her head to rid herself of echo of Mr Gold's voice, both dangerous and broken, as he said over and over "It's your fault, not mine!"

The school teacher shrugged.

"Most people believe that the humiliation of having his affair paraded in front of the whole town left him even more bitter than he was before. Some others think... I think, that there's more to the story than anyone knows. I think he genuinely cared for her. Mr Gold has always been a monster, but when Belle left she hurt him deeply. And there's nothing worse than a wounded beast."

She stood up, rummaging through her small bookcase for an old photo album, opening it and quickly turning the pages till she came across the picture of a girl, around seventeen, with curly chestnut hair and vivid blue eyes. She was smiling, a rare full-blown smile that seemed to indicate a candid moment rather than a staged photograph. She was petit, and still had some of what people commonly called "baby fat" but all in all she was lovely. Emma stared at it, glad to have a face to associate with "her". It was rather difficult to link the sweet girl in the picture with the Machiavellian Mr Gold.

"Pretty girl," Emma commented, setting the photograph aside, determined to relax a little with her friend. Gold could keep for a few hours.

* * *

Malcolm Gold reluctantly drove to the outskirts of town, still in his suit from yesterday, wanting to pick up his son and go home to soak in the tub for hours, forgetting the sterile stench of the Sheriff's jail. He parked near the monstrous house almost outside of the town's limits, knowing that the owner was well aware of his presence and would soon come out with his little one on tow.

Over the last few years he had grown not to completely and utterly despise Jefferson Madden, mostly out of necessity. Four years ago he had come to him, bleak and sombre, uncomfortable but with no other option that being there.

"You know where she is," he had said the moment the younger man had poured him a cup of tea, which he did not touch. Jefferson was strange about tea, among other things.

"The wounded rabbit I saw hopping away from here weeks ago, you mean?" he had replied, all false nonchalance and smiles. He had dropped the pretence a second later, his eyes glaring at the older man in front of him "She's not your concern anymore, spinner" the Hatter had names for almost everybody in town, and was particularly fond of Gold's. He had once explained it, something inane about the pawnbroker spinning the thread used to pull everyone in town, like puppets on a string.

"Belle. You know where she is," it hadn't been a question, so the Hatter hadn't answered.

"What do you want?" he had asked instead, intense and serious for once.

"I want you to play messenger boy, dearie" the pawnbroker had replied "Tell her... tell her that if she wants to contact Bae I won't oppose it. If she wants to write him a letter or call him or whatever, I won't object. And if it has to go through you then so be it."

The so-called Hatter had thought about refusing, but the father in him recognized the glint of desperation in Gold's eyes. The child, little Baden, was hurting and it wouldn't do to get in the way of a solution to that. Besides Belle loved the child like her own and would be more than thrilled by the prospect of having contact with him again.

"You will not use this to fish the rabbit out of her cosy little hole, I expect," he had warned, his eyes boring into the pawnbroker's, alert for any sign of deceit. When he had found nonce, he had nodded.

"I'll arrange something and tell you when to have your little boy dropped here."

No other word, no further explanation. Just that. But Gold had taken it gladly, swallowing his questions in fear of letting the opportunity slip away. He had done as the Hatter had asked, trying to remember that, as obsolete as he was socializing with his peers, the man was extremely good with kids.

The visit's to Madden's house had done the trick. Though still reserved and rather serious Bae had begun to laugh and talk more, and whatever rift Belle's departure had created between them, a rift made more of Gold's guilt than Bae's recriminations, was mended. His child was truly too good for his own good.

He brushed off Jefferson's many quips about "the slammer" and his questions about Sheriff Swan's handcuffs, deeply glad that Bae wasn't paying close attention to the two adults. He felt immediately better when he got into his car, Bae safely in the back and the chipped cup carefully nestled inside the glove compartment. It had been worth it. He'd beat Moe French a thousand times, if only he could.

* * *

Emma shifted in place, already bored to tears. Why her presence in town meetings was required was still a mystery to her. No one ever misbehaved, or caused the least bit of trouble. The council members went about their business with little fuss, discussing whatever issues needed to be addressed publicly and then privately making the decisions that actually mattered. Everybody knew that yet everyone came all the same, without fail.

Out of all the council members she liked the treasurer, Mr Midas, the most. Quiet, calm and friendly he was usually the voice of accord and peace. He was close friends with the DA, Albert Spencer, but the blonde didn't particularly like him. There was something dark and unpleasant about him that got on her nerves and he was quite a bit snobby as well. In a corner, lounging like he didn't have a care in the world sat Jefferson Madden, dressed a tad strange with his vest and ascot and trying very hard to pretend he was comfortable in a room full of people. The illusion was almost perfect but over the last few months Emma had come to know the town recluse enough to see through his pretences. He was all-too-eager to leap out of his seat and back home to Grace and their solitude, but it was very difficult to tell. She almost wished she couldn't pick up on his subtle hints, because it meant acknowledging she had become closer to the "Mad Hatter" than she cared to.

On the other side of the wide table sat, as always, Mr Gold. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit and shirt, both tailored to perfection, he sat ramrod straight in his chair, a dark, unfriendly presence in the room. No one dared meet his eyes, and when he spoke it was in the most muted of tones, everyone straining to hear him, afraid to miss a word and suffer the consequences.

The sheriff stifled a yawn, unwilling to give the mayor, sitting at the centre of the table, any reason to berate her after the meeting was over. One by one the matters needed to be discussed were brought up and dealt with, mostly extremely boring stuff no one was interested in. Regina seemed eager to reach a particular matter on the agenda, and Emma realized, with more than a bit of distaste, that it likely had to do with the recent death of Mrs Shoeman, a kindly old lady that owned some property, mainly the dilapidated Storybrooke Library, that Regina had had her eye on for quite some time. Mrs Shoeman had always expressed a desire to bequeath the building to the town upon her passing so it would be of service to the people but, as far as Emma could glean from the rumours, Regina planned on tearing the old building down and relocating the offices of The Mirror there, no doubt to ensure the owner of the paper would forever be in her debt.

_'Ugh, politics,'_ she thought, shifting on her feet, her legs aching. She threw a dirty look at Jefferson, who had tipped his chair back to get a look at her and he winked in return, a manic smile spreading across his face.

"Well, now we come to the matter of the abandoned Storybrooke library, promised to the town with the unfortunate passing of dear old Adele Shoeman," Regina's voice was artificially sweet and cloying "The floor is open for suggestions and general discussion."

There never was much discussion so Emma, and the rest of the people gathered in the room, were quite surprised to see a rather old man stand up. It was Alan Rainer, Adele's lawyer and old friend, looking quite dapper in a light-coloured morning suit and carrying a briefcase. He went to sit by the table with a microphone and some chairs in front of the council's own, placed there for occasion such as that one. He moved slowly, which Emma knew must have been killing Regina.

"I'm sorry to say, Madame Mayor, that there has been a most regrettable mistake. Adele, God rest her soul, didn't quite leave the library to the town, though she indeed contemplate the idea of it being of use to the people of Storybrooke."

Regina's smile froze, her hands clenching.

"Excuse me?"

Mr Rainer put on his glasses, smiling apologetically at the members of the council. Out of the corner of her eye Emma saw Mr Gold smirk and lay back, clearly pleased with the Mayor's anger.

"Yes, indeed, I'm afraid that before dying Adele drafted a new will, leaving all of her possessions to a close acquaintance who has asked to retain my services. My client must be running late but I'm sure it won't be long now. I do apologize"

Light chatter filled the room, accompanied by much more fierce whispering amongst the members of the town council. Regina spoke in harsh murmurs, trying to get all of the other members on her side, already looking for a way to get the situation back in her control. Their heads bent together out of necessity they paid little attention to the rest of the people in the room, dropping the pretence of inclusion and openness they usually strived for. Regina even disregarded poor Mr Rainer when he announced his client had finally arrived and it was only after he repeated himself twice that she snapped, not even looking up:

"Alright, alright. State your name for the record."

The council members did not pick up on the shift in the mood of the room, but the sheriff did, trying to get a closer peak at the newcomer who had set the tongues of everyone present wagging, one or two people pointing out and whispering. The woman looked unaffected by it all, choosing perch herself lightly on the table next to Rainer, her red-painted lips curving into a smile before lightly bending down to get close enough to the microphone.

"Isabelle Marie French," she said in a slightly deep, lilting voice, her too-blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, staring at the council members with the utmost calm. The sheriff had a split second to wonder at the familiarity of the name before her eyes darted across the room looking for hints as to the sudden buzzing chatter in the room. Her gaze moved past Jefferson's glint of amusement and Regina's perfect goldfish impersonation to finally settle on Mr Gold's suddenly-ashen countenance. He sat frozen in place, barely breathing, his eyes glued to the woman's small frame, taking her in like he'd die if he didn't do so. He looked, if it was possible, both stricken and starved. She followed his gaze as he took in everything from the newcomer, from her shiny red pumps, past her tailored black skirt that flared at the bottom, almost but not quite brushing her knees and cinched at her waist, to the scrap of silky fabric that covered her torso, with wide straps and a modest neckline that compensated for all the bare skin of her arms and legs. He looked at her like she was a stranger and the most familiar face on Earth, one of his hands clenching against the gold handle of his cane, fixated on her in an almost predatory manner. He looked ready to pounce and to bolt at the same time and, above all, incredulous, unbelieving.

"Belle," she saw his mouth form the word and, a second later, it all dawned on her. It seemed that after four years away Belle French had finally come home, against everyone's expectations.

She certainly did not look the way Emma had pictured her. There was a maturity that she hadn't been able to imagine from the one picture Mary Margaret had showed her. The clothes helped, of course, sophisticated yet looking comfortable, far from a girl playing dress-up. Her make-up accentuated her features, particularly her rather stunning eyes and lovely smile, and Emma could appreciate how her face had sharpened, having lost the last of the baby-fat a while ago. She seemed calm and collected, her eyes assessing her environment without looking unwelcoming or wary, but the sheriff noticed immediately that Belle resolutely kept her gaze away from the far left side of the council table, where Gold sat, still in a sort of daze. The illusion of serenity was almost perfect, but the sheriff's rather developed instincts picked up on the slight trembling of the woman's left hand as it gripped the table, and the tell was enough to give her away.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she continued, her voice pleasant and neutral, surprisingly strong while addressing the great powers of Storybrooke "The drive here took more than expected. I tend to... drive slow."

The council members all seemed rather speechless for one reason or the other, Jefferson being the only one silent in order to contain some sort of boundless glee. At last the Mayor snapped out of her trance, lips curling into a barely-hidden sneer as she tried to stare the young woman down.

"That is... quite understandable, dear. I'm sure everyone here remembers your unfortunate car accident. It was such a huge deal, some years ago. The talk of the town, you could say."

It was clear Regina was not aiming for subtlety, but it only seemed to make Belle French smile all the more, casually tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, the rest still secured in a lose bun that allowed the natural curls to show.

"You're very kind to remember, Madam Mayor," there was a faint touch of steel in her voice, and it was then that Emma realized she might very well grow to like the brunette quite a lot if she stuck around "But I don't wish to take up any more of the town's time. I have here," Rainer handed her some papers, which she glanced at before making her way to the council table to present them to Regina, carefully still not looking at the far left corner "A copy of Adele Shoeman's will. Though it does indeed state that her wish is for the old, abandoned library to be of use to the people of Storybrooke it also makes it very clear that all properties are left to me," she paused, a flicker of sadness crossing her face before it was gone and she hastened to add "Of course I have every intention on following through with her wish. I want to reopen the library to the general public."

More whispers rose behind her but she paid it little attention, pouring a glass of water to her coughing lawyer as she let her words sink in.

"Well, I'm afraid that's quite impossible, dear," the mayor said the last word like it was the greatest of insults "After all the regulations clearly state the need for a certified librarian from the local populace to run the library and it's been years since we've had one."

Isabelle French smiled and it was clear to Emma that the woman had been waiting for Mayor Mills to say exactly that. Yes, she was definitely gonna have a drink with the florist's daughter if she stuck around.

"Well, that's no longer a problem," Rainer fished out another set of papers from his briefcase, which Belle again presented to the entire council "I happen to have a bachelor's degree in library and information studies from the City University London. Rather new but it qualifies."

The papers were soon passed around the table, Regina practically shoving them at Spencer so he could get a close enough look, inspecting them no doubt to see if they were in any way suspicious or defective. William Midas, in the meantime, seemed more interested in the financial side of things, asking about the money that would be needed for repairs and new books.

"I know the town budget has some money left aside for improvements such as this, but I doubt it will be enough, Miss French," he told her kindly, opening a folder he always brought to town meetings to check the numbers on the budget. Belle leaned close to look, grateful that the treasurer was seating on the right side of the table, next to a smiling Madden.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Mr Midas," she finally answered as she handed him another paper "I took the liberty of going over some figures," she smiled sadly "Adele left me quite a bit of money, more than I could possibly need, and I intend to cover what the budget won't. It won't be a problem, as long as I have the council's approval."

She stepped away from the table again, almost tripping when a hand wrapped around her forearm, quickly spinning her around and making her collide against someone's chest.

"Little Rabbit!" Jefferson's maniacal laughter was tinged with a warm touch of affection as he squeezed the air out of Belle's lungs, unapologetically swinging her around by the waist "You're back! I haven't heard from you in weeks, you devilish little creature! Grace was starting to worry, you know?"

Belle smothered a giggle as she squirmed in his arms, demanding he put her down. Out of the corner of her eye Emma could see Mr Gold seething, his laboured breaths indicating he was very close to snapping. For a second she felt worried for the Hatter. Blessedly he soon set the girl down, looking a bit less kept-together than before but a lot happier.

"We'll catch up another time, okay? I don't wish to waste everyone's time just so you can swing me around like a rag doll."

He stepped away reluctantly, waltzing back to his seat after casually glancing at the other side of the table, towards a barely-contained pawnbroker who was glaring at him, hands clenched around his cane. Belle turned to look at the rest of the council members, her heels clicking on the floor as she went through her proposal in minute detail, looking like she didn't know what everyone else was thinking about. Emma could see people following her with their eyes, still pointing and whispering, but she had a hard time reconciling the image of the disgraced runaway teenager with the poised, articulate woman talking about structure repairs and shipping orders. The mayor, psycho bitch that she was, interrupted every five minutes with a question or a veiled reference to the girl's past.

Emma had begun to think that nothing could possibly faze the girl when the doors at the back of the room opened, a non-committal young woman moodily pushing a small child along, aiming to seat on one of the few empty chairs. The boy, pale and short with a mop of unruly hair, paused in the middle of the aisle, his eyes big as he stared, unabashedly, at the florist's daughter.

"Ma..." the boy's voice died down, a faint look of distress crossing his face before he tried again, this time stronger "Belle?"

Isabelle French froze, the placid look vanishing from her face. She almost tripped, catching herself on the edge of the council table before turning to look at the six-year-old.

"Bae," she whispered, a smile spreading across her face, tentative and tremulous. She turned back to look straight at Mr Gold for the first time since she'd entered the Hall, a silent question in her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment before his eyes darted towards his son and then back again and then nodded. It was all the permission Belle needed to practically sprint, not an easy feat in her lovely stilettos, towards the little boy, picking him up with a bit of effort before practically crushing him against her, his short little arms, thin but strong, slipping around her shoulders to link behind her neck. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, smiling against the skin of her throat and recognizing the smell instantly. It was peace, and warmth and love.

It was Belle.

"My little boy," he heard her murmur into his ear, uncaring if the rest of the town was getting front row seats to their little reunion "My perfect little boy."

He squeezed harder, feeling content and giddy. Belle kissed his hair and forehead while he repeated her name over and over, sniffling a bit. Her arms eventually grew tired so she knelt on the floor and set him on his feet, pulling back to get a proper look. Bae was thin and rather short, but healthy-looking, with a floofy mop of chestnut chair and vivid brown eyes, almost hazel like his father's.

"Look how big you are," she gave him a watery smile, her hands framing his face "You're a little man now."

Bae smiled, showing a missing tooth.

"I started school," he informed her proudly, gesturing to his Storybrooke Elementary uniform in blue and grey "I play soccer and all, though papa hates it when I call it that."

Belle laughed, her fingers combing through the child's messy hairdo. She was crying, but her happiness was almost palpable. She kissed both his cheeks, then his nose and his hands. It had been such a long time since she had seen him she almost couldn't believe he was real and in front of her. Bae had a similar problem, his vague memories of Belle's voice and scent paling in comparison to the reality. No one ever spoke to him about Belle directly, and mentioning her in front of his father always made the older man taciturn and unhappy, so he usually kept his thoughts of her quietly tucked away, sometimes confiding in Mr Hatter when he was in one of his less manic moods. Belle had been, for almost as long as he could remember, a secret, his secret. Now the time for hiding was over. She was back, and he was sure this time she was staying.

"I'm sorry to interrupt this... idyllic scene, but we all have other matters to attend to, Miss French. If you'd be so kind as to give us a second of your attention we'll be forever grateful."

Regina Mills sounded oily and saccharine, was quite effective at commanding everyone's silence. Isabelle French hoisted Baden up once more and made her way to the front of the room again, sitting the child next to her lawyer.

"I'm going finish this real quick, darling, okay? You just sit quietly here and I'll be right back."

Bae nodded, smiling once at Mr Rainer before locking eyes with his father, a knowing look in his face. He knew she'd be back, she had promised him so. Remembering the promise he looked into his shirt pocket, fishing out a thin object.

"Wait, wait!" he stepped on the chair, holding the pin up in the air "The promise. I kept it."

Belle reached out for the hairpin, recognizing it instantly as her mother's favourite. She had given it to Bae for safekeeping in order for the child to have tangible proof of her promise to come back to Storybrooke. She tucked it on the base of her loose bun, the blue jewels glittering in the light of the room.

"Thank you, Bae," she kissed his forehead one more time, the boy grinning up at her, infinitely pleased with himself. Belle had promised that the next time she wore the pin she'd be back for good and, throughout the years, he had held on to the memory like it was something precious. Now he could finally let it go. He would have new memories now. And he'd finally stop envying his classmates, whose mothers almost always picked them up after school and cared for them when they were sick. Now Belle was back and, though he couldn't call her mama, he could very well treat her like one. Names were unimportant.

"Sorry about that," the brunette hardly looked apologetic, it was quite clear. She plunged back into her proposal, eager to finish her presentation in order to submit if for review. She knew she counted with at least two of the votes. Madden and Midas would agree to her idea, the first out of love and the second because it was a sound financial plan that would allow the town to reopen the library at a fraction of the cost. Spencer would most likely vote against her if pushed by Regina, who looked like she couldn't say "No" fast enough. That left, in the end, the lone figure to the left. Belle thought it supremely unfair that, four years after unceremoniously letting her know he wanted nothing more to do with her, he once again had power over her fate. She didn't let it show, keeping her eyes averted from him. If he declared himself against it now it wouldn't even go into the next stage.

"Well..." his voice caught her by surprise but she didn't let it show "I suppose it's about time the old library was reopened."

Relief turned Belle's legs into jelly, but sheer force of will kept her from showing anything other than a smile as Madame Mayor reluctantly announced that the project would be carefully studied before a final approval was given. It'd take a couple of days, but the hard part was over. The next order of business was introduced, Rainer returned to his seat and Belle, a bit unsure as to how to proceed, picked up Baden and sat on the back row seats with him, her hands constantly petting his hair or holding him close to her side. He had gotten big, and for some reason that had startled her. In a way she had expected everything in Storybrooke to have remained frozen in time, for people to still be the same as they were when she had left. And though in many ways what little she had seen seemed to indicate little had been altered around her home town Bae was proof of the years she'd been away. She had chatted with him online plenty of times, curtsy of Jefferson's meddling, but, somehow, she had still expected him to be that little toddler who wouldn't eat anything orange or bathe without his battered yellow ducky. The Bae in her arms, cuddling against her side with a smile, was older, both a stranger and a familiar face. This Bae she knew and didn't but she was confident that time would mend everything. For now the feeling of the little boy cuddling close, with not an ounce of reticence, was enough.

Soon enough the meeting was over and, though she felt everyone's eyes on her, no one spoke to her or Bae, or even looked at her directly. Once again she was in the sphere of influence of Malcolm Gold and was, thus, an untouchable.

One person did look at her with keen interest, a blonde woman she hadn't met before, sporting a red leather jacket and, tucked against her hip, the shiny badge of the Storybrooke Sheriff.

"You must be Sheriff Swan," she said when they were close enough to talk. Jefferson had gone on and on about the new sheriff in town and her golden beauty "It's very nice to meet you."

She proffered a hand, which the sheriff shook without hesitation. Seeing as how Baden was quiet she gently nudged him, reminding him of his manners.

"Oh, no, that's fine, the kid hasn't really warmed up to..."

The next thing Emma knew she was shaking Baden Gold's fucking hand while the kid looked at her with a rather shy air.

"Hi, Sheriff Swan. It is very nice to meet you" he dutifully greeted her before pulling his hand back to clutch at Belle's black skirt. The woman ruffled his hair as a reward, which the little boy seemed to like, letting out a giggle.

'Dear God, I just heard Baden Gold giggle.'

"You have pretty hair," the boy added, his face serious as he looked at her blonde curls. The sheriff smiled, awkwardly accepting the compliment before turning her attention to the brunette, trying not to look like she was sizing her up. She had a feeling she could grow to like her, nefarious connections to the town ogre aside, and it would be rather nice to have someone other than Mary Margaret and occasionally Ruby to talk with.

"Well, I just wanted to welcome you back to Storybrooke. You're here to stay, I gather."

"Oh, yes. That was always the plan. Storybrooke is my home," Belle smiled, wistfully, and beside her Bae nodded, causing Emma to chuckle.

"Well, then welcome back. I'll be seeing you around."

She smiled once more and then was gone, lost in the crowd who wouldn't approach the newcomer. Ruby wasn't there, which was a pity, but she'd swing by the diner later to let her know she was back. The thumping of a cane drew all those thoughts away pretty quickly, though. She had prepared long and hard for that moment. She had picked out the outfit carefully as well as the venue. Though people were already leaving there were still in public, so there was likely to be little conversation. She knelt before Bae, petting his hair and telling him in soft, soothing tones that she needed him to sit by himself for a little time while she talked to his papa. She then turned, almost colliding with a solid, suit-clad chest, and willed herself not to breathe him in. She had forgotten how his mere presence could unsettle her and she hated herself for her weakness.

"Mr Gold," she greeted, taking a small step back in order to be able to look at him in the eye. However short he was, and as high as her heels were, he still had a small height advantage over her.

"Miss French," his voice turned her name into a caress but she was pleased to detect, beneath the smarm and the charm, a hint of vulnerability. He clearly was not very comfortable talking to her. Good.

"I believe we have some... arrangements to make," he continued, looking for a split second at Bae, who was swinging his legs and resolutely not staring at them.

Belle took a deep breath, stepped forward and, with more than a bit of bravery, grasped his chin with one of her manicured hands. She could feel eyes on them, but she shrugged them off. Better to do this in public, she reminded herself. Less of a chance for him to run or lash out at her.

"Let's get this straight, Malcolm," she whispered, pleased to feel him freeze up just a scant inch from her "I made a mistake four years ago. I let you come between Bae and me, my pride too stupidly hurt to think about him. You might go on and on about how Bae's your son, and how I was just his nanny but we both know that that's not true. As long as he wants to see me, Mal, he's going to see me. Get in the way and I promise I'll hurt you."

Her eyes never wavered from his, disregarding for a moment how his skin felt against his fingers. Four years, four fucking years and it took a touch to make her feel seventeen and yearning. The only consolation was how unsettled he looked as well by her proximity and the small contact, choosing to take a step back to regain some of his composure. When he spoke, however, his voice gave him away.

"I know," he gritted out hoarsely "That's why I've been driving Bae to the Hatter's house for four years. Four years, Belle," he had no right to throw that in her face but he did it anyway, barely remembering not to make a scene. They had already given the town enough fodder for gossip "I'm not... if you're here to stay, I won't oppose your involvement with my son. I'll encourage it, even. Bae's never spoken to sheriff Swan before, he finds her intimidating. But you stroll into town and half an hour later he's complimenting her on her hair," he felt the familiar dull stab of jealously, which he batted away "You may take him for the rest of the day. I doubt I'd be able to pry him off of you in any case. After that we'll see."

She couldn't supress the smile of relief and gratitude that spread across her face. He didn't deserve it, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Thank you," she whispered, relaxing a bit. She had expected to have to fight him a bit more, but it was clear he felt differently about Bae and her than four years ago. It unsettled her in part, because a great deal of her anger had been fuelled by that particular memory, his dismissive tone as he belittled her relationship with his son ringing in her ears each time she thought about it. And now, half an hour after meeting him again he had taken the edge away from her.

It took her a minute to realize she needed to go. Quickly informing him she was staying at her old place she grabbed Bae by the hand, letting the kid chatter on about school and sports as they made their way out of the Town Hall, oblivious to any stares of whispers around them.

* * *

Mr Gold, on the other hand, drove back to his house as quickly as legally possible. He let the events of the day sink in only after pouring himself a hefty dose of Scotch, feeling the liquid burn his insides with relish. His fingers shook as he poured himself a refill, downing it quickly before succumbing to an impulse and smashing the glass against the nearest wall, shards flying everywhere. He picked up another and smashed it, as he did the next and the next till there weren't any more left. His champagne glasses, unfortunately displayed in a corner of his wet bar, were next, as well as a half-empty bottle of Malbec from Argentina (a pity, it was from such a good year) and a full bottle of Breeder's Choice, a poor joke sent as a Christmas present by the Mayor that he would rather see dripping all over his floors than drink.

After the destruction of the whiskey bottle he lost momentum and simply slumped on his couch, closing his eyes and exhaling. She was back. Belle was back. At that very moment she was cuddling close to his son, every bit as warm and loving as she had been four years ago. It was as if nothing had ever changed but, at the same time, everything had. She had, certainly. He closed his eyes, willing the images to go away. If he had thought her gorgeous at seventeen, Belle at twenty-two was the stuff of dreams. He was pretty sure the stilettos alone, and what they did to her legs, were going to kill him.

But it was not just about the clothes, or the clear physical development. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence behind her movements, the ease with which she talked and interacted. Ruby was a good year older and still looked like a girl playing at being a grown-up. Belle, on the other hand, had looked like she had life figured out. There had always been a sort of quiet maturity about the brunette, visible to those who knew to look for it, but whereas before it had been hidden under awkward limbs and generic clothing now it was displayed for the world to see.

He felt somewhat relieved that her current look appealed to him more than her teenage appearance, even though he had never thought it was her obvious youth what had drawn him to her all those years ago. His tortured thoughts gave way, for a moment, to an unwelcome wave of lust as his brain sought to remind him, in vivid detail, how she'd looked leaning slightly against the table, her legs primly crossed, the crimson of her pumps attracting his attention to her legs, legs he could remember feeling wrapped around his waist, warm and welcoming. Over the years he'd thought he had idealized his memories of Belle, but one good look at her, the first one in years, had him discarding that theory completely. His body's response to the sound of her voice, to the gentle curving of her lips into a smile had been almost embarrassing and it was then that he understood that sometimes the worst clichés had a horrible tendency of being true.

Absence did make the heart grow fonder.

It was ridiculous. He had driven her away, and he recalled feeling particularly pleased by the gesture four years ago. His one selfless action in his entire existence, and he had thought it, at the time, worth the look of complete devastation on her face as he had systematically cut her out of his life and Bae's. Sure, he had thought, she'd hurt now, by be thankful later. Something inane about how if you loved something you had to set it free had flitted across his mind several times.

He had realized very quickly he had made a mistake where Bae was concerned. His boy had been so young when Belle had left Storybrooke that he had at first worried little about him. He'd forget her soon enough, other things would surely quickly catch his attention. That, clearly, hadn't happened, and it had forced him to grovel first in front of that insolent little waitress at Granny's and then at Jefferson Madden's feet, which hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. But it had gotten the desired effect. Bae's smiles had returned, though not as bright as before. Over the years little trinkets- plush toys, snow globes, toy cars and the like- had made their way into his son's room without him purchasing them and he'd known immediately were they came from. Not one of them ever gave him a clue as to where she was. Bae would never talk about the presents, and he would never ask him. Later he'd see his boy reverently handling all those toys, carefully arranging them around his room. Only the stuffed animals ever got handled with less-than-perfect care. He'd usually sleep surrounded by them, biting the ear of a giraffe and holding fistful's of a wolf's tail. Once, and only once, he had gotten one of those presents before Bae, delivered by a reticent Jefferson so it would make it in time for the child's birthday. It had been a bear, hand-stitched with maple-coloured fur and embroidered eyes and nose. It looked too home-made to be store-bought and, in an act of utter foolishness he'd regret later, he had held it up to his face, inhaling the scent, looking for traces of the typical store perfume all new things carried.

The damn bear had smelled of her.

He'd clutched it close, imagining what a pathetic spectacle he must have made, a grown man sitting in an armchair pressing his face against a stuffed animal and breathing in deep. He hadn't cared about it one whit. Later on he had reluctantly relinquished the toy to his son, feeling nothing but cold envy at seeing the child sleep with his arms wrapped around the plushie. He had briefly contemplated making his sporadic appointments with Archie more of a routine thing after that, but he had soon dismissed the thought. Nothing the spineless shrink told him would cure what ailed him. If time couldn't, then nothing could.

He pulled himself back to the present. Belle was back. For good. He hadn't planned for such an eventuality, the same he hadn't planned for her leaving town all of a sudden, vanishing in the night. He had thought she'd go to college, somewhere relatively close but still far enough to get a taste of the world. She'd visit periodically for some years, then graduate and get a job somewhere else, giving him plenty of time to slowly get used to being without her. Instead she had disappeared, never to be heard of again (except by Jefferson, Bae and, he suspected, Ruby) and returning four years later, announcing she planned to settle once more in Storybrooke, taking care of the library. Drunk as he was it was hard to control the mandatory inappropriate thoughts that came from thinking of Belle as the town's librarian. He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, willing images of a primly-dressed Belle French sprawled across the reference desk, an exquisite offering surrounded by old leather-bound books.

He shook his head, clearing his mind as much as he could. Belle was back. It was a reality he had to face. A plan of action was needed. The town was small, he was bound to cross paths with her a dozen times a day. And she had made it clear- and a part of him thrilled at the mere memory of her anger, fuelled by the love she felt towards the boy, his boy- she wouldn't be parted from Bae this time around, not that he'd even dream of doing something so stupid like that again. She'd be a part of his life again, and he needed to decide how he felt about that.

Eager was one word to describe it. Nervous would be another, and terrified one of the most accurate ones. He didn't know what to expect of this strange new variable nor did he know quite yet what he himself wanted, other than seeing Bae happier than he had been in a long, long time.

He concentrated in the short term goal of looking less sloshed by the time she came to deliver Bae, showering and changing, resisting the urge to put on Belle's favourite purple stripped shirt or the pocket handkerchief she had given him as a present years ago, opting for his dark blue shirt and one of his suits, sans the jacket. He cursed himself for his idiotic nerves and, when the doorbell finally rang, he forced himself not to lunge towards the front door.

Under the sterile porch light Belle looked still beautiful, wrapped in a red pea coat and carrying a sleepy but smiling Bae in her arms, nuzzling against her.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long. I fed Bae."

She couldn't quite hold his gaze, her stiff posture and air of unease making him queasy. Once upon a time his house had been Belle's favourite place in the world, a place that would one day become "theirs" instead of just his. Now she could hardly bear to be on the front steps. He took the child from her arms, glad when Bae hardly stirred, quickly settling back to sleep. The tyke was quite heavy at six, but he didn't relish showing how much his knee hurt in front of Belle.

"That's quite alright," he replied, belatedly remembering she had spoken to him. He took a deep breath, looking for the words to invite her in because, quite obviously, they needed to have a little chat. But, before he could, Belle pulled back.

"I gotta go unpack and go see Ruby. Have a nice evening, Mr Gold."

She turned and walked away a bit too quickly for a woman wearing stilettos, and soon the night swallowed up. The pawnbroker shifts the boy in his arms, trying to stomp down the sudden panic that she'd disappear again, like last time. He'd given up the right to care four years ago, willingly. It would be unfair to her to try and get it back. He'd let Belle make the first move, and act accordingly.

It had always been, after all, the very nature of their relationship. She lead, he followed.

* * *

Belle approached him the day after, at the pawnshop. She wore a dress, deep blue with a thick brown belt and lovely wine-coloured peep-toe shoes, her hair free and flowing, longer than he remembered her wearing it during her teenage years. She played it casual, her fingers idly ghosting from trinket to trinket, a strange warmth in her eyes as she gazed around. Belle had always loved his shop.

"Belle," he greeted from behind the counter, refusing to call her by her last name as she did him "I didn't quite expect to see you so soon. It was just yesterday, after all, that you fled my presence."

It was unkind of him, but he was quite used to lashing out when wounded. Belatedly he realized she'd notice.

"I'm here because the sooner we resolve this little situation with Bae the better for everyone concerned," she replied evenly, her eyes drifting to him for a second before focusing on an old cuckoo clock, a garish thing he was quite sure he'd never, ever sell.

"Quite right, dearie," it was his time to hurt, his generic nickname for everyone he thought was beneath his interest in town escaping his lips "Well, Bae's school lets him out at three. He usually stays with the babysitter till I come home around seven but, if you can take care of him during those hours, we could find a peaceful way of... sharing custody."

The term was unfortunate, but rather accurate as well, so she let it pass, nodding instead.

"I'll be dealing with paperwork for a week or two, between Adele's state and her business matters, so I'll be home, mostly. The permits and such I need from the Town Hall will take a few days, so any work in the Library will have to wait and, even then, I'll just take Baden with me, if you have no objections."

It was only when Baden was mentioned that she showed doubt and a glimmer of fear beneath the cool steel of her exterior. She was a thing of beauty to see in action: poised and calm, carefully blank when considering her options. But when the boy, her boy, was in the middle, she tumbled and wavered. The amount of power he held over her was as humbling as it was horrifying.

"I won't object to your relationship with Baden. Never. You have my word."

Belle laughed but it was a hollow, unpleasant sound.

"You gave me your word once. It turned out to be worthless."

The bitterness felt foreign coming from her, and it gave him a glimpse of a less put-together Belle, a broken Belle. He almost recoiled from her then, an awful, high-pitched voice inside of him taunting him.

_'You broke your little Belle, you broke your little Belle...'_

"A once in a lifetime event, I can assure you," he replied, his idle hands toying with a rather ancient Lladro figurine he was supposed to be cleaning. It was a horridly-mocking piece, anyway: a brunette ballerina, stretching on her stomach, supporting her upper torso with her folded arms. The figurine was dressed in blue and white, and her ballet slippers were a deep red. Tillman, the mechanic, had been the one to bring it in and the moment he'd seen it he'd known he had to have it.

The figure wore a rather cruel resemblance to Belle, after all.

"You say that now, but I won't make the same mistake twice," she spat, and a part of him saw her outburst as something good. He'd rather she treated him with contempt and rage than with the same smooth politeness that she used to shield herself from the rest of this accursed town.

"What? Loving me?"

"Trusting you."

The sound of the bell marked her departure.

* * *

After that first meeting things got easier to handle. An unspoken truce where Bae was concerned settled over them both. She remained closed off and tight-lipped around him but the rumour mill allowed him a glimpse into what had been her last four years.

Adele Shoeman had financed her departure from town and, really, he should've guessed that. The old lady, with more money than she'd ever need and a soft spot for his youngest tenant, had set her up in her tiny flat in Boston till she could get her thoughts together. She'd helped her apply to colleges everywhere, adamant about paying for every expense. With no children or nieces or nephews, Adele was rather in desperate need of someone to dote upon and Belle had reluctantly agreed. He assumed there was more to the story, he doubted Belle would have let the old lady pay for her higher education. There were a lot of blanks still waiting to be filled but, as says turned into weeks, it seemed rather masochistic of the pawnbroker to hunt for every little piece of information about a woman who spoke to him only to deliver his son safely home. What little joy he could get came from seeing Bae's face and his increasing openness. Though he clearly would never be an extrovert his boy seemed more interested in reaching out to the world around him, or less afraid to do so. He would no longer follow his father's way, the coward's way. He'd grow up brave like he had always wanted.

So he spent his days at the shop or collecting the rent, catching glimpses of Belle whenever fate would take pity on him, and waiting for her to tell him were they stood. Patience was a virtue he had cultivated over his time as a dealmaker, and it still did not seem enough when Belle was concerned. He begun to think she'd happily spend the rest of her life in Storybrooke exchanging two words a day with him when she came into his shop one afternoon, a dark blue dress with white patterns swishing about her legs. Though she caught him by surprised he struggled not to show it, merely waiting for her opening statement.

"I heard you bought Storybrooke Stables from under Regina's nose and burned the whole place to the ground," she said and, when he did not object, she continued "I seem to recall a rumour about the mayor's teenage years. How she'd fallen hopelessly in love with Daniel Warren, the son of the owner of the stable. Poor people, could barely scrape by, but very honest and genuinely fond of horses."

"'tis a true story," Gold commented, pretending to read something on his Inventory list, wondering where this was going "Lovely family, if a bit financially challenged. Owned several prized horses that they'd refuse to sell. And Regina was really quite besotted with their doe-eyed boy, which of course meant Cora moved some strings and got the boy's family to see it would be better for everyone if little Daniel went to spend some time with his aunt and uncle. He died in the way, I recall. Tragic accident."

The glee in his voice was at once disgusting and riveting and Belle hated herself for the goosebumps she could feel forming on her arms and the back of her neck. She'd forgotten how intense Malcolm could be.

"And now the stables are no more. Ruby also said there's a nasty rumour going around town that you bought all the horses and sold all but one, Daniel's mare. They said you killed her."

He shrugged, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words.

"An unfortunate incident while removing her from the premises resulted on a permanent limp. Shooting Apple was a mercy."

Belle snorted, the gleam in Gold's eyes giving him away. She felt a bit elated and, with a sinking feeling of dread, realized that killing a horse was probably the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Except that, the way she figured it, it had been less about her and more about him. As it always was. Malcolm tended to think he was acting selflessly for her sake when in reality he was serving his own purposes. Silly man.

"My father's still in the hospital, by the way," she smiled when Gold dropped his pen and the clipboard he'd been holding, breathing in deeply.

"Oh, yes, Madam Mayor paid me a visit this morning and went on and on about your nefarious assault on my dear dad," she smiled at his incredulity "What, surprised she's playing her little games so soon or that I seem unwilling to dance to her tune?"

There was something wicked about Belle then, a sort of glee at the idea of being toyed with that he found inexplicably arousing.

"Well, my dear, she does like to see all her ducks in a pretty neat row," he rasped out, suddenly eager to crush her to him and hold her down till she spent all her anger towards him and he could finally see if beneath it there was love like before.

"Oh, yes, ducks. But I bet the swan's giving her a bit of a problem," they almost shared a conspiratorial grin, except there was too much between them to permit it. She grew sombre again, something sad flickering across her face. She tilted her head to a side and he prepared himself for whatever question she might pose to him.

"Was it for me? Was it for you? Was it to get even? Was it to send a message?" he voice was tiny, and her eyes huge, and it took all that he had not to react in a way he had no right to anymore.

"What, the stables or your father?"

"Both."

He ducked his head, breathing deeply before answering.

"I was in pain. I wanted them to be, too."

"Well, you are rather good at that," she remarked casually, her tone neutral and impersonal but her body language so closed-off he dared to look at her face, needing to try and read her emotions.

"At what?" he asked, rather breathless. Belle shrugged, focusing her eyes on a globe, making it twirl with a lazy motion of her left hand.

"Inflicting pain," she smiled "It's lucky that I moved on long ago."

She said the word without malice, or resentment, just a plain statement hanging in the air, communicating to him what she expected of their relationship, like he had wanted from the start. But just before she turned to leave he saw it: two glimmers, one in her eyes and the other about her throat: a hint of unshed tears and the sun caught in a thin golden chain about her neck.

It was the necklace he'd given her for her eighteenth birthday. He'd recognize the delicate craftsmanship anywhere, remembered his fingers caressing the delicate links for hours as he changed the clasp for a much more secure one before presenting it to her. Suddenly he had the answer to both his questions: Belle still loved him and, judging by the way his heart had decided to leap to his throat, he still loved her. He didn't know whether she'd done it on purpose or by mistake, but he was quite sure she'd tipped her hand quite clearly. They might have spent four years apart but Malcolm still knew her inside out at the very core of things. So much of Belle would always puzzle him but the base, her centre, was something more familiar to him than his own reflection in the mirror. Funny to think that, had she not decided to try and lie to him, he might have never known.

All alone in his shop, Mr Gold laughed.


	5. Part Five

**A/N: Thank you so, so much for your patience. It's meant a lot to me and I hope this is reward enough.**

* * *

The library was a big project, and getting most of the permits and the rest of the paperwork in order took weeks. Wrestling with City Hall for every single scrap of paper was to be expected and, in a roundabout way, it worked in Belle's favour, since it made it very clear for everyone around town that she was not to be messed with. Whatever bureaucratic nightmare Regina threw her way she retaliated with a shortcut or an appeal through the rules of the town charter, which she had studied exhaustively, and soon she gained a name and a reputation in her little home town that had nothing to do with the local Dealmaker.

Part of her time she also dedicated to settling in, dealing with the bulk of Adele's estate. Whatever property was not owned by Gold or the town seemed to be hers now, from parts of the forest to local businesses including a hardware store and a garage. The building she lived in was now unoccupied save for the tiny apartment she had decided to move back into. For a while she let it be so, unwilling to sort through the furniture, clothes and everything else that was of her former landlady.

Adele had given her support and choices at a moment in her life where she desperately needed them so, and a chance not to be strong for once, to rely on someone else. She'd never known her grandparents so she hadn't felt guilty about letting the old woman fill in that role. She'd told her of her own dreams and limitations, about wanting to see the world but being kept at arm's reach by overly-strict parents that instilled such fear of the outside in her that, by the time they had both passed away, she'd been unable to leave Storybrooke to explore the world like she had always wanted to. She had purchased a bus ticket to Boston every week for a year, and every time she'd been unable to use it. Finally she had resigned herself to the truth: she was too afraid to take a step out of Storybrooke, Maine.

She had lost her moment, but she had been adamant that Belle didn't lose hers. In a way she had lived her dream through the teenager.

Two weeks after her arrival she couldn't put it off any longer. She woke up bright and early, put on worn work clothes and spend hours upon hours sorting through old furniture, knickknacks, heirlooms and other such things. She found an unexpected treasure in the form of art nouveau jewellery, from hair combs to necklaces and bangles, and some lovely vintage dresses she decided she could put to good use, but tried to be as detached as possible and let go of whatever she didn't need. Most of it went to the nuns, the clothes and furniture welcomed to be distributed among the poor or sold to those who couldn't afford brand new things. There was a rather abundant collection of rare books that she carefully and lovingly boxed up to take them to the library and sort them out there. Some looked to be very valuable and it would be nice to have a collection of rare books for the curious people of Storybrooke to peruse.

The safe box hidden inside the linen closet, however, held the most extravagant surprise. It was an exquisite art nouveau necklace, heavy gold and enamel, with amethysts depicting insect women in every link and black swans, worth too much money to be sure. It was the kind of necklace that would command the attention of a room, a work of art designed to be worn. A Lalique, possibly. How it had ended up in a little town in Maine was beyond her.

It was beyond dirty, and the clasp broken, but with the right expert hand it would be a thing of beauty to be sure. A part of her wanted to be practical and simply arrange for it to be sold. Another part, a part she had never known she possessed till she had been able to afford anything other than the most basic of clothes, wanted to keep it for a rainy day. Unfortunately that implied taking the gorgeous piece of jewellery to the only person with the knowledge needed to fix it up and clean it without damaging the finish.

All roads in Storybrooke led to Mr Gold's pawnshop, it seemed.

When he saw her enter he fought the urge to blatantly stare at her figure clad in high-waisted dark-grey wool trousers and a silk white blouse, the neckline daring enough to spice up the look without it being inappropriate. The necklace he'd given her was absent from around her throat, Belle having apparently enough presence of mind to remember to take it off before coming to see him. Interesting.

"Good afternoon, Miss French," he greeted, his brogue turning her last name into a caress. He was willing to play her game of indifference and formality, to pretend he didn't see the connection still palpable between them because he was a man who knew the value of patience. Sooner or later something would give him an opening. Till then he would strive to establish as amicable a relationship as possible.

"Mr Gold," she replied, a hint of mistrust in her eyes, the rest of her as neutral as she could manage. She would have fooled anyone but him "I come to see if you could clean something up for me."

She slid a velvet box between them, across the glass of his counter. He opened the case, stifling a gasp at what was inside.

"What a beauty," he whispered reverently, tracing his fingers lightly across the gold and enamel of the necklace "Art Nouveau, circa 1900's. Very good condition. A Lalique, I'd wager."

His eyes flitted to her throat, picturing the necklace wrapped around it, a solid weight against her collarbone. It'd be glorious.

"I wanted to see if you could fix it up. The clasp is broken, and I think one or two of the stones need to be replaced, and it's filthy. I'll give you time to appraise it and pick it up once it's ready."

Gold had gotten, over the past weeks, incredibly good at sensing when Belle was about to bolt. She'd lower her gaze for a split second and her breathing would change slightly. The moment he spotted the signs he wracked his brain trying to come up with a way to keep her by his side. Any topic of conversation was shot down, even trying to rile her up, inciting an argument, was quite a lost cause. Belle was pleasant enough in his company but she treated him with the same familiarity that she did Mr Tillman when she took her car to the mechanic.

Actually, he was pretty sure Tillman got more smiles than he did.

Had he never discovered she still loved him he'd never thought of pursuing her again, contenting himself with watching from a distance as she made a life for herself and, eventually, a family. A better man would still try to resist, he guessed, but he was as he was, rotten and selfish, never quite adept at reflecting over his mistakes, more content to push for a solution, for a way for things to be what he wanted them when he wanted them desperately enough. That's how he had gained custody of Bae, how he had amassed his fortune, by applying his single-minded, undivided attention onto something or someone. The more he concentrated on the outside the less he'd focus on his own shortcomings.

He needed to be patient, and alert. Sooner or later an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime Bae provided enough of a link between the two to tide him over. His little lad was a rather shameless supporter of his father's endeavours to woo Belle back, and had learned enough subtlety from him to be wonderfully good at masking it. Though he refused to use the boy as a means to force himself on Belle more than she already allowed, simply content most of the time to watch them together from afar. The boy, safely ensconced once more in her love and care, blossomed, leaving behind his timid little shell and interacting with people more readily, taking an interest in the park, meeting kids his age without parent looking in abject horror at his father sitting in a park bench nearby. Belle, by contrast, had a way of inviting people in, on making other kid's moms and dads feel immediately at ease, engaging in conversation long enough to give Baden a fighting chance at introducing himself and his stuffed giraffe, Nick, before some desperate grown-up snatched his or her kid away from him as they'd done before.

Kids fascinated him because so few had ever been allowed near him. He didn't blame his papa, how could he? He knew no other way of dealing with people than keeping them at a safe distance, and he had despaired over realizing that doing so meant Bae was left alone too. That's why his papa needed Belle, as much as he needed her too. With her they were a family, and he couldn't understand why they were both being stubborn about it, Belle by pretending she wasn't in love with his papa anymore and he by refusing to apologize for whatever dumb thing he did, probably push Belle away, he was good at making mistakes like that.

There were other obstacles in the way, and Baden was observant enough to pick up on them. One manifested itself one afternoon as he happily walked alongside Belle to the ice-cream parlour, his hand safely enveloped by one of Belle's. It took the form of a woman dressed in black, one he'd seen at a distance before, one that could manage to make his father tense up and usually tighten his hold on Bae. It was a woman, with lips too red and a smile too thin to be pleasant to look at, in his opinion. She smelt awful too, like overly-sweet, cloying apples that made his nose itch and burn so he buried his head against Belle's waist, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla.

"Madame Mayor," he heard her greet the other person, a slight trace of coldness in her otherwise neutral voice. She didn't like this other person, which made Baden all the more nervous "Bae, darling, say hello to Mayor Mills."

He felt his mama's hand in his hair, petting him, letting him know it was okay and he needed to be a brave boy. He turned his head to look at the lady in black, waving a hand and muttering a the best "Hello" he could muster under the circumstances, all the while trying to look as imposing as he could so she'd understand he was Belle's protector and would be watching her very carefully.

And Nick too.

"It is so nice to see you again walking with your head held high amongst the streets of our little town, Miss French," the mean woman's smile widened, but not in the way that meant happiness, not really "I mean, I myself would've never had the courage to..."

"But you did, didn't you?" his mama's voice sounded like it could cut through steel, and Baden silently tallied a point in her favour. When his mama used that voice she was not to be messed with, which was the reason he always finished all the peas in his plate "Once upon a time you got caught in an empty stable with someone, if I recall. Quite the scandal at the time but, obviously, you managed to rise above it. It proves Storybrooke can be quite a forgiving community."

There was a smile on Belle's face, but Baden knew it to be false, since it lacked the warmth that he usually felt when she smiled. It was a smile he could see more at home in his father's face, but that in Belle looked less like a common occurrence and more like war paint. Whatever it was it managed to vanish the black lady's smirk, a frown stealing over her face instead. He knew it was bad to like someone to be upset but Bae did, smiling a bit against the soft fabric of Belle's dress. He wasn't always a good boy.

"It's not very polite of your to dig up old rumours, Miss French. Truly, I'm shocked. But I guess I shouldn't be, taking into account what I know about you."

The way Belle's grip on him tightened Baden knew the only reason why his mama was still smiling was because he was there. Papa did that too, sometimes, even though Bae thought it was silly. He didn't like the mean lady and wished his mama would shove her like he had shoved Nicholas Zimmer in the playground for stealing his spot in the sand box, even though he was older and bigger. He'd made the boy trip on a tree root in order to take him down, but still counted is as a victory.

"I'm not digging up anything, Mayor Mills. I don't need to. If I wanted to hurt you I'd simply... Tear down that awfully gaudy gazebo right across from the Toll Bridge. It's dead set in the middle of a patch of land I now own and has been for decades nothing more than a place where silly teenagers meet to escape their parents. I think I heard your name associated with it, once upon a time."

The gazebo had been, in Regina's youth, a wonderful place for secret rendezvous, far away from both their homes to be considered safe. It was now a rotting ruin, the land since lost to the town, and even though it was a hazard that many had tried to bring up in council meetings the mayor had always shot the issue down, stating that what was in someone's private property was not business of the town. Belle personally hated the thing, as it was not only unsafe but also had been incredibly popular when she'd been in school, with boys constantly high-fiving each other after one of them mentioned a "visit to the gazebo". She had a mind to destroy it altogether but having even a small leverage over Regina left her feeling safe, so she'd boarded the place up instead.

"Do we understand each other, Miss Mills?" she kept her voice calm and conversational, pleasant even, but even Bae could see it was but a mask. It didn't bother him at all. The black lady scared him a bit so it was nice to know that he was safe with his mama just as he was with his papa. Belle was tough, like Ava Zimmer who took care of the many bullies that came after her brother, but left him alone when he exacted just revenge against the little idiot. She was fair, just like his mama was.

"Perfectly, dear," the older woman replied, a smirk about her features that indicated this was not over, not by a long shot.

"Bye, Miss Mills!" Bae shouted to her retreating form, not bothering with her title the same way Belle had dropped it at the end. He waved his hand in the air, his smile just shy of mocking.

"You are your father's son," Belle commented, ruffling his hair and smiling in that special way she reserved when talking about his papa to him, the smile that reassured him more than anything else, because it made him feel that, soon enough and with a bit of his help, his parents would finally stop messing around and get together already.

Hope was enough for Bae. He could be patient.

* * *

Of course Regina kept true to her underlying promise of retribution, making sure no builder or contractor or work crew in town would deigned to be employed by her to make the necessary repairs, so she set out to do whatever she could on her own, with Leroy the drunk handyman as her only helper, only because for some reason Regina had overlook him when she had set out to threaten everyone in town with all sorts of Hell if they so much set foot in the library. Between the both of them, with sporadic help from Ruby, Mary Margaret and her friend/lover/Belle had no idea what David Nolan, who was at times charming and at others a bit annoying. She'd spend most of her time in overalls and old t-shirts, doing whatever she could to clean the space up as much as possible, knowing she'd need, sooner or later, to make some more drastic changes she'd need professional help for. Then she'd rush home around three to shower, change and pick up Bae, spending the afternoon with him till it was time to deliver him home.

It was that time of the day, around seven, that Gold looked forward to the most, in a masochistic sort of way. Belle would, at first, linger just long enough to say goodbye to Bae, being polite but distant with the pawnbroker. Nothing he said or did- an offer of tea, an invitation to check the progress of his work on her necklace- could make her stay for more than five minutes, and those five minutes she'd be tense, on edge.

It was, embarrassingly enough, Bae the one to provide him with more than a glance of Belle each day. It started innocently enough, truly, just his little boy being very proud of a drawing he'd made in art class and begging Belle to wait for him to fetch it from his room. She agreed reluctantly, for once sitting down in the living-room, unable to just stand around in the foyer till Baden came downstairs. He poured her a cup of tea with a dry comment about how she could drink it or not, but he was not taking it away, and they ended up sharing some very awkward small talk before Bae appeared brandishing his depiction of Nick, his constant companion and partner in crime.

He didn't do it all the time, his boy knew better than to arouse suspicion, really, but at least once a week, he came up with a reason for Belle to linger- sometimes it was a new toy he wanted to show her, other times it was something on TV he wanted to watch with her, dragging his father along for the ride. Gold wasn't sure if those days were bliss or torture, sharing a couch with Belle, his son in between them, reminding him of a past were scenes like that had been commonplace, without there being such distance between them.

She was always polite, and hardly antagonistic, but she'd dodge most of his questions, anything that delved into her life, particularly those years she'd been away. He hated it, knowing that there was a side of Belle he knew practically nothing of, experiences he wasn't privy to when, once upon a time, he'd known her inside out. Once he'd spotted a tiny burn scar on the inside of her right wrist and had immediately enquired after it, his hands itching to touch her, to trace the miniscule line and ensure that it was, indeed, barely there. She'd closed off so quickly he'd barely had time to blink.

He hated her for that, even though he knew he had no right to. She still loved him, and he loved her, what right did she have keeping them apart, hiding from him as if he was some sort of nosy stranger? But he ground his teeth and held his tongue, knowing in his bones that an opportunity would arise, eventually, and she'd no longer be able to evade him anymore. So he held it together, and waited, and then waited some more.

He would've never imagined his opportunity would come from one of the Mayor's sick, twisted little games involving the pious schoolteacher Miss Blanchard. Some years ago, when the lass had been ten or so, she'd been involved in the scandal that had ran Regina's little stable boy out of town, and since then she'd dedicated a great part of her life to ruin the Blanchards. He was very sure her careful machinations had helped Leopold Blanchard's business to fail miserably, driving the man to suicide and leaving little Mary Margaret an orphan at eighteen. After that he'd thought the feud was over, and Regina was finally satisfied with the pound of flesh she'd obtained but, apparently, her adopted son's fondness for his teacher and Mary Margaret finally finding happiness in the form of soon-to-be-divorced David Nolan, had reignited her latent hate.

Usually he'd just let her do as she pleased, as long as it didn't intrude on his life or business, but this time he saw the opportunity to profit from her unsavoury character. The charges she'd concocted up against Miss Blanchard were laughable- he could not picture a scenario where the good little teacher would ever steal from a charity, much less one founded to honour the memory of her dear departed father- but the timing, what with the Nolan scandal and all, was rather ingenious and could possibly mean a conviction, taking into account that DA Spencer, whose family had always languished in the shadow of the Blanchards, was on board with the plan.

The funny thing about Storybrooke was how defensive was regarding strangers. No one liked them, except perhaps Mrs Lucas and her languishing inn, and they didn't tend to stick around, Emma Swan being the exception. The idea of hiring council outside of the town limits was, therefore, a ridiculous and possible damning prospect. Coupled with his power and his well-known dislike of the mayor it made him the prime candidate, and only candidate, really, to be Miss Blanchard's attorney. Sadly a teacher's salary and some well-kept family money wouldn't be enough to retain his services, and everyone knew it. It left him in the position to make all sorts of demands if he wished to, but he had only one in mind.

He was quick to meet with a distraught Mary Margaret at Granny's listening attentively to her plight before contritely stating that unfortunately his going rate was very much outside of the brunette's reach, though he wished her all the best. He was surprised Ruby didn't pour a lapful of scalding hot coffee on him, or that Granny hadn't kneed him in the groin. But, in the end, those two were an essential part of his plan. Though Miss Mary Margaret and Belle were not close friends the troublesome little waitress was close to both, and so would be the one to surely rant and rave against him to his pretty little librarian.

It didn't take long for people to barge into his shop demanding he stop being an utter asshole and "do the right thing" for once. Miss Swan certainly had a colourful language and, had Belle not entered the picture, he might have represented Miss Blanchard solely for the pleasure of having the new sheriff owe him a favour. As it was the former bounty hunter provided nothing more than a passing amusement, specially taking into account the way her friend, who had followed her to the pawnshop, chastised her like the blonde was her unruly daughter.

He busied himself cleaning an old pocket watch, enjoying making the only member of the local law enforcement itch to aim her gun his way, when another woman entered the shop. Still the wrong one, but getting closer. Miss Ruby didn't have much to add in the "arguments in favour or taking Miss Blanchard's case" department, but she certainly contributed to his understanding of the new slang for cursing.

"It's no use, sheriff," the waitress finally huffed, glaring daggers in his general direction "There's no changing his mind."

The jingle of the bell stole his breath away. There she was, his brave girl come face the dragon.

"Well, that's not exactly true. There's always a deal to be made."

A smirk tugged at the left corner of his mouth, even if the rest of him was half-frozen in fear this wouldn't work. He forced his attention to remain on the pocket watch, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Quite right, my dear. But a deal can only be struck if two people have what the other wants. Now the question is, dearie...?"

Belle stepped past the flabbergasted women and leaned against the glass counter, the closest to Gold she'd been since returning to Storybrooke.

"Do I have what you want?" she finished for him, her tone light and only mildly curious "Well, that would depend. What is it you want, Malcolm?"

There was no coyness in her voice, she wasn't Ruby trying to get by flirting, nor anger. She was considering a proposal, nor having her hand forced by him. She was probably the only one to understand the difference. He appeared to consider the issue, though both of them knew he had foreseen the whole conversation. Somewhere behind them Mary Margaret attempted to dissuade Belle from getting mixed up in her problems, and Ruby looked close to grabbing the librarian by the arm and dragging her out of there, case be damned. Only Miss Swan remained silent, watching the exchange attentively.

"You calling me by my name is a good start," he paused, wetting his lips and glancing up to see that, indeed, Belle followed the movement with her eyes. He pretended to ponder some more "Well, since I'd be donating my precious time and energy towards clearing Miss Blanchard's name and reputation it only seems fair that I should get your time and energy in return."

Ruby was quick to come to the worst conclusion, taking a few steps towards the register.

"You incredible creep...!"

The sheriff stopped her. She didn't know this Belle French very much but what she had seen of the Librarian made her think she could take Gold on easily. Besides Mary Margaret's future was on the line.

"Oh, nothing as devious as that, rest assured. Just a dinner, every now and then, some company over tea, all innocent. The more time Miss French spends with me the more effort I'll put into Miss Blanchard's case. Not to mention, of course, the added benefit of seeing Bae more. It's a win-win for everyone involved."

Belle looked at him speculatively, tilting her head to a side, eyes slightly narrowed. He could feel her suspicion and it thrilled him. She knew him enough to be wary but not put off. People either took his deals at face value or were paranoid about them and outright refused them. Few thought that they could strike a mutually-beneficial bargain with him. But Belle knew enough of the way he did business to know that such a middle ground existed.

"Any other provisions or terms I should be aware of?" she finally asked him.

"Only that I expect civility. You may not like me, nor be happy about spending time with me, but I trust you will conduct yourself in a polite, adult way. No need to make things more unpleasant than they already are. That would mean, by the way," he lay a hand over one of hers on the counter, noticing she tried to tug it away for a second "contact, every now and then. I won't have you skittish with me. I, of course, promise to be a gentleman and behave politely as well."

Mary Margaret tried in vain to get the librarian's attention, tugging on the sleeve of her cardigan, clearly uncomfortable with what was going on. Ruby loudly protested in the background for all who cared to hear her. It was, funny enough, Emma the one to see that whatever little deal Gold and the florist's daughter had struck had little to do with Mary Margaret, for both of them. The case was an excuse to resolve some standing issue between them and so saw no reason to intervene. Mary Margaret would profit from it, Regina's plans would be thwarted and, hopefully, Gold would emerge from the experience less beastly.

"So, Belle," the way the pawnbroker said the librarian's name made the three bystanders inside the shop feel like they were intruding on a private moment "Do we have a deal?"

He offered his right hand, palm up, and she clasped it firmly, making eye-contact. She pulled away moments later, breezing past a distraught Mary Margaret and an enraged Ruby, head held high and steps slow and even. Her hands, however, were shaking.

It had been a risky move, to all but force Belle to spend time with him, but he couldn't afford to be a coward with her anymore. It was horribly selfish of him, he knew, but he knew no other way to be, not without her. Besides he could tell, by the way Belle had so readily agreed to their arrangement, that a part of her wanted it. She was resourceful, both in mind as well as in money, she could've thought other ways to help Miss Blanchard had she wanted.

It didn't make him any less bloody nervous, however, and he realized just how bad it was when Bae patted him on his good knee and told him to breathe the first time they had her over for dinner. It was his son, bless him, the one to smooth over the rough edges at the beginning. Between his embarrassing nerves and Belle's wariness he was very sure they'd have dined in complete silence had his wee son not prattled on and on about the football tournament he was practising for and the new things he'd learnt about sharks after watching a new documentary on the nature channel. He eased them into polite conversation, seeming to know when to withdraw and let his mama and papa reconnect. The ensuing small talk was painful, but it was a start, and that's all Malcolm could hope for.

After dessert Bae had to be ushered to bed, beginning to nod off at the table. They took tea in the study, Malcolm opting to sit at his desk and begin going through Miss Blanchard's case file, trying to pretend he wasn't acutely aware of Belle settling down on an armchair with a book. When silence settled over them it was surprisingly comfortable, familiar in a delicious sort of way. The grandfather clock burst their fragile little bubble, alerting Belle of the hour.

He allowed himself one small touch, his hand on the small of her back as he escorted her to the door, keeping the rest of his body at a respectable and comfortable distance. She didn't comment on it, and the subdued way in which she had tolerated his touch sparked a painful flare of self-loathing.

_'You did this. You pushed her away. Shut her off, cast her out.'_

After that initial encounter he came to the conclusion that dinner had been too big a first step, so he let her set the pace. She proposed to meet for lunch, and it wasn't as awkward as before. They both tacitly agreed to go nowhere near the back room, choosing instead to eat on the counter, and chat idly about the new additions she could see displayed. It gave him a ridiculous little thrill to see how much she remembered of his shop to be able to accurately pinpoint the items he had acquired over the last four years.

He put all his skills with words to twist and turn the conversation in her direction, trying to catch a glimpse of what the last four years of her life had been like. It got him nowhere, and he knew, by the way she was barely civil on her way out that she had noticed his attempts at weaselling out information from her. He was ready to declare his idea a complete failure. They had no safe topic to broach except for Bae, and even that subject was risky, taking into account their parting four years ago. Whenever he thought about cancelling the arrangement, however, he'd catch a glimpse of gold about her neck and the certainty she was wearing his necklace beneath her clothes kept him hanging.

But for every step forward he thought he took he seemed to take a thousand steps back. For every involuntary smile he'd cajole she seemed to frown all the more, to close off after every glimpse he got of her. It was still better for him, to have her near even when she struggled to push her away, but he begun to fear that the arrangement might be taking its toll on her. He wasn't worried about what people might say or think, he wasn't about to underestimate Belle that way ever again. But he could see it, more and more, how being in his company made her tense. Sometimes she'd relax, drop her guard, laugh at a quip without meaning too, perhaps lean close rather than pull away but the moment she realized what she was doing she'd freeze, going stiff before shying away, visibly wary.

It was trust, her surmised. She no longer trusted him, and he could hardly blame her. He'd cast her out when she needed him the most, without an explanation or an apology. He'd been cold, even ruthless, so desirous once he had made his choice to have her gone that he hadn't taken care with his words. He'd meant to hurt, so deeply, so visceral, that she would never dare approach him again. He had been foolish as well as callous.

To distract himself from thoughts of Belle he poured over the Blanchard file. It was a ridiculous story, but one well-constructed and supported. Official-looking documents and witnesses painted quite a picture, and he wagered no one but him would have been able to tear the case apart. But he had more connections than Regina, and the absolute certainty she was behind this and that his client was completely innocent. No other lawyer, especially from outside, would have seen it that way. And this was a game he knew, one he could win.

This was something he could do to bring happiness to Belle.

But it was part of the problem. He had made it so, with his arrangement. He toyed with calling it off daily, asking for something else as payment. A favour from the new Sheriff would do quite nicely, it was about time he had the local law enforcement under his thumb. After all it had served Regina well in the past. Or perhaps something else, he could figure it out. Something that would look valuable enough that the exchange wouldn't surprise anyone, even if it wouldn't fool Belle.

His cell-phone, tucked away safely inside his jacket, tempted him at all hours. He wanted it to go forever, the arrangement, and he wanted it over as soon as possible. To make the call would be the right thing, the decent thing, and he wished he was the sort of man who would so such a thing without hesitation. He fished out his phone for the hundredth time in the day, about to flip it open before he lost momentum when it started ringing noisily. He cursed, feeling his assertiveness slipping away and knew he wouldn't make the call that day. Instead he angrily answered the call, ready to unleash his anger in whoever was on the other end of the phone.

"What? ... Bae? Who is this? What's happened to my son? The... the hospital?"

The drive from his shop to Storybrooke General was a blur. When he burst into the building Whale was already there to brief him about his son's status. He said something about a compound fracture, a risk of infection and a head injury. He knew little of the accident itself, and when the pawnbroker requested to see his son he stammered something about surgery.

"What?!"

"With open fractures it's essential for the patient to undergone emergency surgery as soon as possible to clean the area of the injury and stabilize the bone. This way we avoid complications and long-term issues such as..."

The doctor's voice died down, his eyes quickly flickering towards Gold's lame leg and the Scotsman felt like someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs. He let the doctor escort him to a waiting room, where Kelly Barrie, Bae's "too-young-to-be-in-charge-of-children" teacher. She was sobbing in Mary Margaret's arms, a sympathetic Ashley Boyd rubbing her back as she assured the long-haired girl that "accidents happened" and that "she shouldn't blame herself".

"Like hell she shouldn't!" He spat out, his worry turning to anger. He proceeded then to remark on her utter incompetence, her inattentiveness and the things he'd do to make her pay, from suing the school to filing a specific lawsuit against her and evicting her and her step-mother from their home. At some point the sheriff was called, no doubt by her roommate to instil some peace, or at least attempt to control him, since he was making quite the scene and several nurses and doctors had tried in vain to request he keep it down. Miss Barrie was sobbing louder and louder, and he hated her for playing the victim when even then he still looked like the villain. No one seemed to care that it was HIS son being operated on. There were no reassurances for the Beast, no sympathetic pats on the shoulder or understanding glances.

He never knew how he could distinguish the sound of her pumps on the floor, but the minute it reached his ears he felt most of the tension bleed out of him. He turned his head to look at her, dressed in a faded blue lace dress and black tights, and felt exactly like for years ago when he had yanked her out of class because Bae has gotten an ear infection. In that moment everything inside him seemed to sigh in relief: Belle was there, and she'd know what to do to make things better.

The doctor came out of the OR just as she reached him, clasping on of his hands between both of hers and stroking his arm. He could barely hear what the doctor was saying but he was acutely aware of Belle nodding and asking pertinent questions, calm and completely in charge.

"Belle?" he enquired as soon as the doctor stepped away. The librarian patiently sat him down, tilted his head up and coaxed him to focus on her.

"Baden is going to be alright, Mal. It was a clean fracture and there were no signs of infection. They cleaned the wound thoroughly and administered antibiotics to be on the safe side. They don't think he'll need any orthopaedic implants, but they'll see how things look when Bae's feeling better," her voice was soothing but firm, forcing him to concentrate "He's going to be fine, Mal. But he needs his papa to be strong so you're going to breathe deeply for me, and calm down so we can go see Bae when he's settled in his room. No more yelling."

He nodded dumbly, sighing in relief when she sat down next to him and guided his head to her shoulder. He nuzzled against her skin, her scent doing wonders for his peace of mind and didn't even register the other females in the room, all staring at him like he'd grown a second head. He felt her fingers in his hair stroking softly, nails slightly scraping against his scalp in a very familiar way. She was a creature of incredible strength, so unlike the coward lurking inside of him, but it was a strength that Belle could share with others, seeming to be able to pass it by way of her nearness. He had forgotten that about her.

She left him only to fetch some tea and a muffin for him to eat and when the doctor told them it was alright to go see Bae she pressed herself against his side, a subtle means to support him without seeming obvious. When they reached the child he seemed unbelievable small next to all the machines near his bed. He was pale and drifted in and out of consciousness, the meds making it hard for him to stay awake. He smiled when he saw them and reached out with his arms.

"Papa," Gold was by his son's side instantly, making a rather poor attempt at reassuring the boy. He was trembling and his voice was shaking too much to transmit serenity in any way, but Bae smiled and patted his father's hand, appreciating the effort. He then turned his head slightly and spotted Belle nearer the door, smiling in a reassuring way.

"Mama," he whimpered, making a grabby motion with his hand. Neither of the adults corrected the lad, Gold merely scooting to the foot of the bed to allow Belle to sit down close to Bae and stroke his forehead.

"Hush, darling," she crooned, tracing nonsense patterns across his very pale forehead, making him scrunch up his nose slightly "The doctor told us you were going to be alright, you'll just need a bit of extra-care and maybe a cast, which will be really cool."

Bae stared at his bandaged leg before his eyes grew heavy and he dozed off, cuddled against Belle's side. The sight of her cradling his child did away with the rest of Mal's fears. He'd been terrified at the prospect of comforting Bae, his mind always going back to those early days when he'd first gotten custody of him and he'd trash in his arms, a wailing mess. But now Belle was there, and it meant his boy would be alright. He needn't be afraid his shortcomings would impact negatively on his son's life, he wasn't alone anymore.

He slipped out of the room and hunted Dr Whale down, making it very clear that if his son didn't get the very best of care he'd find a way to evict him and take his overly-flashy sports car, taking into account it was the collateral of a loan Victor was being slow to pay. The physician was quick to recommend a specialist from Boston, bowing to give him a call as soon as possible. Threatening the nurses and other staff members came next, making it very clear to all of them that his boy was to be treated with friendliness and respect and that they should all be extra-attentive to him, lest they find their already precarious financial situation all the more dire. It was his own way of helping Baden, a way in which he knew he excelled.

When he returned it didn't surprise him to find Belle asleep carefully curled around tiny little Bae. He lay on a nearby couch close to them, settling down for the night. Sleep came and went at first, but sometime during the night he felt Belle scoot close, barely able to fit into the empty space next to him. She draped something over both of them and when he tried to talk she shushed him softly. She hugged him then, pressing herself against with no hesitation. It was then that he realized he was crying, silently, unassumingly. He buried his face in her hair and held her close.

Bae might need Belle, but he was pretty sure he needed her more. And it was dangerous to fall on the incorrect notion that he could have her, that the interlude in the hospital wasn't just an extenuating circumstance. Still he snaked his hands around her and burrowed close. He'd take what he could get.

Bae's prognosis was the best, given the circumstances, and surgery could be avoided in favour of a cast and very strict regulations as to what the boy could and couldn't do. He was soon out of the hospital, completely trying to disregard the doctor's orders to rest for two weeks before going back to school. He had, over the last months, made several new friends he was deadly afraid of losing. Since work at the Library could very well continue without her Belle was around as much as possible, ready to entertain the little tyke so he'd stay in his bed and rest as it had been prescribed.

Gold, on the other hand, was torn between enjoying the fact that he came home every afternoon to his son and Belle and feeling guilty for somehow getting something out of Bae's accident. Something had thawed inside her, he could tell, and they'd regained some of their closeness, a sort of tentative friendship. Still, it was a relationship based on a contract, and he could never forget that. It started gnawing at him every time she smiled, or didn't tense when his fingers brushed hers as he handed her a cup of tea. Strangely enough when he broached the subject of the deal, trying to imply that he didn't wish to hold her to her end of the bargain, Belle objected.

"No, no. A deal's a deal."

She was adamant, and at first he thought she feared him going back on his word to help Miss Blanchard. He was about to stress the fact that he'd fulfil his end of the deal when something, the way she fidgeted perhaps, or the hand that crept up her neck to finger the thin chain of her necklace, gave him pause. A new sort of idea formed in his head, one he knew by the way she wouldn't meet his eyes was correct.

She wanted to be with him, and saw the deal as her shield, her excuse to be near.

The realization broke whatever last barrier guilt had erected between them, and even after Bae was healthy enough to resume his routine she stayed close, and more open than she'd ever been since her return. He learned then that she had acquired her burn scar while handling a pot clumsily three years ago and he'd never been happier to learn anything in his life. He'd even caressed the mark, feeling her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips, and even though the touch had been slow and adoring, as far from platonic as possible, she hadn't shied away.

It was a strange new world for them both, one where they were no longer antagonists, played at being friends and pretended they didn't notice the tension lingering in the air. Belle, he suspected, was skittish to go down that path, taking into account what he had done four years ago. Gold, on the other hand, strove for patience, not wanting to lose the ground he had won by rushing things. It was a an even more difficult endeavour to wait when he had her so close, so within his reach.

Then the meddling little waitress stepped in to muddle things up, like he should have expected her to do. He hadn't imagined Storybrooke had many eligible bachelors but they seemed to come out of the woodwork, all more than willing to be set up on dates with the new Librarian. He briefly contemplated the idea of putting the word out that whoever went out with Belle French could expect his rent to double overnight but he had contained himself, knowing Belle would eventually find out and hate him for it. Every once in a while Belle would drop Bae off all dressed up. She had developed over the years an exquisite taste, refined but modest, elegant. And he adored seeing her in dresses that were a tad too short to be casual, or had a lower neckline that she'd usually wear, but when he realized those little details were meant to please other men he could barely contain his very vocal and negative opinion on the matter.

Belle was his. She loved him, of that he was more than sure. He had been her first, it had been he the one she had turned to when she'd been in her accident, and his was the child she considered her own son. The rational part of him knew there was nothing logical about that particular train of thought but he could not help the possessiveness that stole over him whenever she'd be about to go on a date. And he knew it was his fault, he'd given her up willingly and, he had thought, selflessly, only to discover he couldn't leave with the consequences of his actions. He told himself over and over he had no claim on her but a part of him, a part that was primal and dark that he had no control over.

Though he managed to bite his tongue and say nothing to her every time he saw her all dolled up for a date, he became impossible to anyone else who crossed his pat. His saving grace was tiny Bae, that could put a smile on his face with a mere pat on his head and an offer of gummy bears. The wee lad was quite certain that gummy bears were the ultimate solution to any problem under the sun. He usually took a couple and smiled, a part of him going soft and mushy in a way people wouldn't believe. Still, he could hardly depend on a child for emotional stability, it wasn't fair to Bae so he tried to steer clear of the boy when he was in a mood.

A rainy evening caught him doing inventory at his shop, Bae having gone hours ago this his first ever sleepover, making the idea of going home lose its appeal. He had, an hour or so ago, spotted Belle going to the local Indian restaurant in a lovely burgundy-coloured dress, a clutch on her hands and nude pumps on her feet. A date outfit, clearly. He'd thought that making inventory would get his mind off of her, and it had worked for a while till he'd encountered her Lalique necklace, all fixed and polished to a shine. He toyed with the idea of using it as an excuse to interrupt her and her suitor but dismissed it, deciding to head home after it started to rain. He touched the velvet case on the pocked of his coat and grabbed an umbrella, locking up the shop tight before leaving.

He was bypassing the town hall when he spotted her drenched and shivering seeking refuge under whatever makeshift roof she could find. She looked the slightest bit defeated, sad, and he wished he knew which man she'd met earlier so he could either raise his rent or impale him on his cane, whatever was quicker. He approached her cautiously but determinately. He couldn't just leave her there, she'd freeze.

At first she fought him, protesting the rain was about to let up at any moment.

"This is Maine, dearie," he argued back. Thankfully she had enough sense to agree with him and hesitantly took his arm, pressing herself against him so both could fit under the umbrella. He wanted to take her home, but she asked to go to the library instead.

"I don't much feel like sleeping and there's a ton of work still to be done, including cataloguing the collection of rare books. Thank you for your donation to it, by the way."

He didn't mention how he had bought all those books over the course of the last four years, thinking about what she'd like to have in her own library. Donating them to her had been the only thing that made sense. The Library was closer than their homes but with the wind and the heavy rain it seemed to take forever.

The interior of the Library was even colder than outside on the street, and Belle quickly tossed her pumps to a side, going somewhere for a second and returning with an armful of towels.

"Here," she offered him one while dragging him deeper into the building, walking around the half-full bookshelves with the ease of someone very familiar with their surroundings. As he followed her he noticed she had removed her stockings and the sight of her bare legs sent a very unwelcome jolt across his body.

"I keep a portable heater in the rare books section to keep the cold and humidity from ruining the books. The central heating system is supposed to be up and running next week, so we'll have to make do with it."

The "rare books section" was a small section of the library currently sporting a small heater, some dim lighting and piles and piles of books. The smell of leather and old paper was pleasant as it mixed with the earthy undertones of the rain outside. He removed his coat and jacket and let them drop to the floor, not before retrieving the velvet case and wiping it dry.

"Is that my necklace?"

Her voice startled him and he fumbled with the box, finally setting it atop one of the stacks of books.

"Yes, all fixed and ready to wear. A welcome home gift, if you'll permit me."

She didn't seem to know how to respond to that so they remained silent, busy trying to get as dry as possible. He glanced at her trying to pat the excess water out of her dress. It was a lovely colour on her, burgundy, but he was sure her date had hardly noticed the way it made the blue in her eyes more intense. After all, whoever had taken her out hadn't seen fit to escort her home, specially taking into account the rain.

"Why do you keep going along with the dates? They don't make you happy. They can't."

He knew the moment he said those words that he'd made a mistake, but it was too late to take anything back. Belle spun around, looking at him incredulously, anger and surprise warring in her eyes.

"Excuse me?" she finally sputtered "What makes you think you have any idea of how I feel about anything?"

Her tone was accusatory, antagonistic and she furiously towelled her hair dry, her movements jerky and stiff. Her dress was drenched, creating a tiny puddle around her and she had taken her heels off. The sight of her so bare, so domestic, snapped something inside of him. Knowing he was already in deep water for his slip-up he felt he had little to lose. He strode towards her, dropping the towel she'd given him on the floor. Belle's anger gave way to wariness and something else, something that wasn't fear at all. It was a glimpse of that other emotion that drove him on, even when she took a few steps back till her foot nudged one of the piles of carefully-stacked leather-bound books. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from Malcolm's. He stopped a mere inch away from her and lifted a hand, tracing his fingertips lightly over her collarbone to snag the delicate gold chair draped around her neck. Slowly, carefully, he unearthed the small diamond drop from beneath the necklace of her sodden dress, reverently brushing his thumb against it before letting go.

"What else am I to think when you were the necklace I gave you on your eighteenth birthday to another man's date? It's hardly the only piece of jewellery you own, and it's value is more sentimental than anything else."

Belle's right hand went to her throat, fingers closing around the small charm, locating the clasp quickly and removing the chain from her neck, as if hiding it from his view would suddenly make him forget he'd seen it. He tenderly tucked a stray curl behind her ear, caressing the edge fleetingly, not missing the way her whole body shuddered. A sort of calm stole over him, soothing his possessiveness. Belle might have gotten dressed up and gone on a date with some undeserving whelp but she was now with him, where she belonged, and not pushing him away. Not denying what he was implying, what he knew already to be true. He didn't need her to speak to see acceptance in her eyes, or catch the way she tilted forward slightly, towards him. His fingers gently tapped against her chin, tipping her head up so he could stare at her in the eyes.

"You didn't enjoy yourself tonight, nor the other nights. You knew it beforehand, so why go through with it?"

He let a bit of the pain that seeing her with other men had caused him seep into his voice, a show of faith. He was willing to lower his defences for her, in hopes it'd make her respond in kind. Belle looked defeated, small, and he fought the impulse to step back and dismiss his question. Instead he reminded himself he was not forcing her to answer, he was giving her a choice.

"I thought it might help me forget."

He reminded himself to breath, his whole body tensing, waiting.

"Forget what?" he whispered, voice low and rough.

She closed her eyes, leaning forward, inhaling deeply and then sighing.

"It didn't work," she sighed again, turning her head to a side and admitting "I didn't want it too. I know I should, but..."

She chance a look at him from beneath her lashes, knowing it would give her away. It was all the invitation Malcolm required to wrap his arms around her waist lower his head and catch her lower lip between his. He felt her arms go around him instantly, fingers sinking into his hair and nails scraping against his scalp. He moaned in relief, clutching her closer, one hand splaying across her lower back while the other wrapped itself around the nape of her neck. She was incredibly sensitive there so he let his fingertips softly brush against it delighting in the needy little moans she let out as she hauled him as close as it was possible.

It was as if the last four years hadn't happened, judging by how familiar it felt to drag his tongue across her lips, gently requesting her to part them. She did so immediately, taking the initiative and snaking her tongue into his mouth. He complied eagerly, always more comfortable following Belle's lead and dug his fingers into her right hip when she flicked her tongue against a particular spot on the roof of his mouth. Four years and she still remembered, it was enough to make him growl appreciatively. He felt her hands slide to his shoulders and then his chest, taking a hold of the know of his tie to tug it loose. Somehow he found himself walking backwards, managing not to trip on anything as Belle pushed him gently but firmly against a nearby bookshelf, rubbing her cold nose against his throat before tipping his head down and kissing him again.

He made a keening sound of protest when his hands, roaming her back, encountered the tiny pearl buttons of her dress, itching to feel her skin but knowing he wouldn't be able to summon the dexterity necessary to pry the garment open. Belle had no similar problem with his shirt, managing to unbutton it in a matter of seconds. Her fingers were quick to sneak under his undershirt, caressing his stomach and sides before kneading the skin of his back. It was then that he noticed she was trembling slightly and that there was a hesitance about her movements. He released her mouth reluctantly, skimming his lips across her jaw and neck before burying his head in her hair, inhaling her scent.

"Send me away, Belle. Tell me to go, tell me you hate me and don't want to see me again. I'll obey, but you have to say it. Please say it."

He breathed the words against her throat, sounding feverish. He wanted to be a good man but he was weak, flawed, selfish. He needed her to push him away so he could let go if it was what she wished.

"I don't want to."

Belle's voice was small, but firm. She cradled his head in his hands, as if to prevent him from pulling away.

"But you must. I want to be good, Belle, I want to do right by you but you have to tell me you don't want this."

Even as he spoke his hands wound around her waist once more, hands roaming her back desperately. He longed to clamp his mouth around her pale neck and suck in the taste of her skin, to draw her blood to the surface and watch it turn into a lovely bruise.

"It'd be a lie."

He groaned, delicately circling her wrists with his hands and pressing them against the leather of the books behind her. He was as gentle as a lamb, his touch soft and adoring, almost worshipping.

"I'm afraid once we start this I'll never be able to let you go," he confided, sounding like he was in agony "Even now I'm scared you'll bolt and I won't see you for another four years or more."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and twined her legs around his hips, drawing him up against her. He bit his tongue to smother a groan as his erection pressed up against her.

"I'm not running away ever again." she muttered against the shell of his ear. It was both a promise and a statement if independence. No one decided her fate but herself. Specially not him.

It was enough to drown that annoying little voice inside him and so he sought her lips again, drinking in her soft little whimpers and moans. He feasted on her, taking as much from her as she offered, trying to ignore his knee screaming in protest. When he couldn't anymore he dragged her back, accidentally knocking over the piles of rare books he'd donated. He thought for a moment to seek one of the few couches in the Library, but they were all too far and Belle was urging him to help her out of his dress. Instead he forced his fingers to cooperate, finding the tiny buttons of her dress and unbuttoning them slowly. Every inch of skin he revealed he caressed, willing it to warm up under his careful touch. His fingers brushed the lace of her bra and twitched, eager to undo the clasp and proceeded further till Belle stopped him, push him gently away, ignoring his embarrassing whine and shimmied out of her dress. Her underwear was a lacy rose number that made her skin look creamier and contrasted with his memories of her white, plain cotton bras and panties, a clear reminder of the years that had passed.

He felt glad he had removed his shoes earlier when she deftly undid his belt and let his pants pool on the floor, only to be kicked out far away. He tugged her down eagerly to the floor, but didn't miss the hiss she let out when her still-wet back made contact with the cold marble floor. He quickly scanned their surroundings for other places where to lay her down, and his eyes zeroed in on the mess of old books littering the floor a few feet away. Praying she wouldn't object he gently guided her there, trying to make sure no corners or spines would dig into her skin as he lay her down, kissing her to try and distract her. She didn't seem to mind when her back touched the worn covers and in the new surface he could support himself on his left knee while his right one hung and inch or so off the ground, causing minimal pain.

Once more she pried him away from her, and the old fear returned, a tiny stab right above his gut.

"I'll do whatever you want, follow your every command, hang on your every word. Just let me have you, Belle."

It wasn't so much about possession as it was about security, about driving the fear that she might disappear or choose someone else away. He fidgeted above her, always the coward ready to assume the worst, insecure deep in his bones.

"Let me see you." she whispered soothingly, her fingers playing with the hem of his undershirt. He pulled it off without a second thought, surprised when her eyes widened and she gasped. Slowly she raised a hand towards his chest, tracing a patter against the skin above his heart and it was then that he remember the mark he had there. It had happened shortly after she'd gone missing from Storybrooke, one of those night when he'd been drunk off his mind and had somehow stumbled into a very secluded tattoo parlour few knew existed in Storybrooke (he, of course, owned the building). He'd barely felt the pain of the needle as it imprinted a B on his skin in loopy handwriting. He had wanted, at the time, a physical manifestation of what he had shared with Belle, of his feelings for her, something only he would be privy to in the loneliness of his room, when he undressed and shed the skin of Mr Gold, loan shark and landlord and became just a scared old man with nothing but of dreams of his deepest regrets. A scar, beautiful and permanent and completely his.

"What is this?" she murmured, petting his chest with smooth, calming strokes.

"I needed a mark," he mumbled, struggling to explain "Something just for me."

She leaned upwards, bestowing an open-mouthed kiss on the tattoo, followed by a gentle brush of her tongue.

"What does it mean?"

The question had a hundred and one answers, but he chose the one that came to his mind more readily.

"That I'm yours," he replied, almost choking on his words when Belle gently bit him above his left nipple "Forever."

She made a noncommittal noise on the back of her throat, he hands caressing the nape of his neck, bleeding the nervousness out of him. She seemed to see something in his eyes, which had become transfixed by the pale column of her neck, where his necklace had been draped. It was such a flimsy sign of possession, that chain, so easy for her to take off, only made valid because she wore it willingly. He wanted, needed, something more permanent on her, something she couldn't simply take off and when she urged him to tell her what he was thinking about, he blurted it all out, with the shame of someone who knew he wished for something he hadn't earned.

Wordlessly she tilted her head to a side, better baring her neck to him, an offering and a command at the same time. He obeyed immediately, thrilled by the idea of following her orders, and carefully licked the patch of skin that connected her neck with her shoulder. Her skin was salty and tasted a bit of the rain that still lingered on it, fresh and earthy. He nipped at the juncture next, probing the sensibility and fragility of her flesh, resolute not to harm her. Finally, blessedly, he sunk his teeth deep into her, applying enough pressure to mark and to cause the tiniest bit of pain. Belle arched beneath him, head thrown back, nosed pressed up against a beautifully-preserved copy of Priapeia. He sucked her flesh into his mouth, willing blood vessels to rupture and spill, to replace the creamy white of her skin with a deep, bruising purple.

He reluctantly released her after making sure the mark would take hold, gently nuzzling her to apologize for any unnecessary discomfort. He trailed his lips lower, between the valley of her breasts and down to her stomach, where he planted feverish little kisses.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled over and over, his voice just shy of frantic "So sorry."

Abruptly and without warning she perched her hands on his shoulders, rolled her hips and pinned him against the books. He made no sound of protest, merely settling as comfortably as he could, trying not to react too much to the feel of Belle straddling him, looking totally and deliciously in control.

"Are you?" she enquired, genuinely curious. He nodded frantically, scrambling to find a way to prove it, any way really. She regarded him silently for what seemed like hours before gently petting his hair, a gesture he took to mean she believed him.

"And what do you want to do now?" she asked next, tracing her hands idly down his chest, exploring the spots she knew made him. He could barely think and bit his tongue so the pain would ground him, give him a bit of clarity.

"Anything you want."

"Even if it's to put our clothes back on and forget this ever happened?"

The mere idea of that made him flinch, but he nodded without a second thought. He would do as she wished. He owed it to her a thousand times over. She smiled down at him, bending over to kiss just above his heart. She then took one of his hands and guided it to her back, helping it undo the clasp of her bra. She promptly shrugged the garment off, tossing it aside. The faint light of the room made her body look even softer than it was. He could see, however, that the lasts bit of childhood roundness that had still clung to her four years ago were gone now, replaced by gentle slopes and defined angles. Her posture was quietly commanding and he adored the way she dominated him without losing her tenderness. Lowering his defences, becoming submissive, felt second-nature in the face of her disarming kindness and he did so, letting his head drop against a first edition of The Perfumed Garden, closing his eyes and concentrating on her touches, fleeting as they were. His hands came to rest around her waist, awaiting her command with barely-disguised eagerness, fighting the urge to dig his nails into his skin whenever she bit or scratched him in a particularly sensitive area.

He made the most embarrassing sound when her hands left his skin, wiggling his hips a bit to get any sort of friction going before a gentle par on his side calmed him down. When he stared up at Belle he saw that her gaze had strayed from him. He craned his neck to see what had caught her attention and spotted the velvet case of the Lalique necklace lying close to them. Belle reached out to pick it up, either consciously pressing up against him to tease him or innocently managing to do so. She opened the case, her mouth parting to let out a beautiful appreciative gasp that went straight to his groin, living little blood left for higher functions. She took it out carefully, letting the scant light of the room illuminate it as best it could.

"You slaved over it, didn't you, darling?" she gently caressed the enamel of one of the links, cool and soft.

"For hours," he swore, howling when she gyrated her hips against his "To make it good enough, worthy..."

She lifted the heavy piece of jewellery, gently draping it around her neck and fastening the clasp. The collar looked stunning against the pale canvas of her skin and it robbed him of any coherent thought he might have had left.

"How does it look?" she gently prompted him. He stared transfixed at her collarbone, the different shades of blue of the necklace complimenting her complexion exquisitely. He gently organized the links so none would keep his own mark hidden, rumbling happily at the end result. His hand moved then downwards, cupping a breast gently, a memory sparking inside at the feel of it. He caressed the underside, a finger tracing increasingly smaller circles before flickering against a nipple, making her grind herself against him involuntarily. His other hand sough the other breast, kneading it the way he knew she liked, using his well-trimmed fingernails to leave fading red marks against the sides and tease the bud at the centre.

He felt her fingers tug at his hair, making his scalp tingle with a mixture of pleasure and pain and he shuddered, suckling on her breast harder to show his appreciation for her attentions. Belle moaned unabashedly, a contrast to his pitiful and smothered keens and whimpers and the sound had him painfully hard, almost thrashing beneath her. He let go of her breasts, hands sliding downwards to knead her hips, asking her to grind against him and put him out of his misery. Nude but for her lace underwear and the extravagant necklace she looked like a queen, and he felt like her most loyal subject, hungry for whatever crumbs of affection she might deign to feed him.

He choked back a very vocal protest when she surprisingly slid off him, watching intently for his reaction. He pushed his fear down, his urge to wrap himself around her and reassure himself she would not leave him. He couldn't help fidgeting, though, but he stilled when Belle's hands softly wrapped itself around his injured joint, tracing the scar tissue with loving strokes.

"What do you need?" she asked idly, eyes intent on his right knee. He inhaled deeply, trying to remember how to talk.

"You," he whispered, well past shame "Please."

Next thing he felt were her fingers on the waistband of his boxer shorts, lowering them. Then her hands took his and directed them to her lazy short, letting the pad of his fingers scratch against the lace. He lowered her underwear slowly, half-reverently and half-scared she'd change his mind and push him away, going back to their usual rhythm of one step forward and two steps back. But as soon as she was truly naked she was back on top of him, hovering inches away from him.

"And what happens after tonight?" she crooned, the tip of her nose almost brushing against his collarbone.

"Whatever you want. Whatever you decide."

She pressed a kiss against his chest and he could feel the tentative smile just as surely as she could feel his hammering pulse.

"I promise."

Everyone in Storybrooke knew Mr Gold never broke a promise, but Belle was the only one to know that wasn't quite true. Once he had promised her to figure things out together, only to turn around and cast her out. He tried to insert as much conviction into his voice as he could. In response she snaked a hand down his stomach, fingers closing in around his already painfully-hard member, teasing it for a second before guiding him inside her, slowly sinking her hips till they were flush against his.

For a moment neither moved nor spoke. Malcolm was busy fighting the urge to come, unwilling to behave like an inexperienced adolescent. Belle felt as good as he had remembered, wet and tight, warm and soft. The floral, smell of her mixed with the leather of the books beneath him and when she tentatively rocked her hips against his he could feel the corners of some tomes dig painfully into his back, the sensation somehow heightening his pleasure.

"Belle," he groaned, thrusting upwards as best he could, the rhythm sloppy and uncoordinated. There was little finesse in the act itself, four years of waiting taking a toll on both of them. Belle was relentless, her movements almost bruising. Still it didn't seem to be enough, no matter how deep he sunk into her.

"Harder," he grunted, digging his nails into her back, trying to press her closer still "Please."

"Yes," she clutched his shoulders to keep balance as she acquiesced to his demand. The pressure inside him rose to uncomfortable levels but he could tell that she was holding herself back. Desperate to see her come undone he leaned up, his lips ghosting over her throat and jawline till he found that spot where her jaw met her left ear, first scraping his teeth across it and then sucking on the tender skin there with single-minded determination.

"Come for me, Belle," he crooned, sounding more than a little desperate "I've got you, sweetheart, I promise."

His hands became soft and loving against her back before he moved them to her side, holding her up and secure as she trembled, her inner walls contracting around his cock and a muzzled mewl vibrating against the skin of his chest. His own orgasm was powerful but didn't capture his attention like hers did. It was then that he caught his first real glimpse of Belle since she'd come back, uninhibited and vulnerable, almost fragile. How he'd missed her.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear, unable to help himself. She stiffened for a second before nodding to indicate she'd heard him. Taking care not to dislodge any of the books beneath he propped himself up, cradling her in his arms. She wouldn't meet his eyes but snuggled close. He managed to grope around for the remaining dry towels and his overcoat, creating a cosy little nest with them close to the heater. When Belle was comfortable lying there he spooned behind her, trying not to let his thoughts stray towards tomorrow. He draped his arms across her naked waist, relieved when her own hands clasped his over her stomach. He buried his face in her still damp hair, closed his eyes, and slept.

He woke up first, at dawn, and passed the time watching her sleep, the Lalique necklace still decadently wrapped around her throat. Nude but for that single piece of jewellery she was a gorgeous site, at once that same person he'd fallen in love with four years ago and someone else, someone more. She'd matured in ways others than the obvious ones, and he marvelled that such creature could love someone like him.

She did love him, of course, the fact that she hadn't said it last night didn't make him doubt in the slightest. Theirs was not a matter of love, it was one of trust, and he couldn't do anything about it. Belle had to be the one to decide whether she could trust him or not.

He woke her up with a kiss around six, knowing that soon the town would wake up and he needed to get home before that. He donned his damp suit gingerly, frowning at the wrinkles. Her dress had fared better but she put it on without buttoning it up to see him to the door. She had an extra set of clothes she'd put on before going to Granny's.

He didn't linger at the main doors, merely tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, softly kissing her forehead and saying:

"There is no rush. I don't expect anything from you Belle. When you know what you want and you're ready I'll be waiting, no matter how long it takes."

He could see her struggle with herself for a moment before nodding and watching him go.

* * *

It was maddening, to desire and fear something in equal measure. Belle had always been assertive, seldom doubting herself or her opinions, but it had been over a month since her encounter with Malcolm at the Library and she still couldn't summon up the courage to make a decision as to whether she could trust him enough to be with him or not. The memory of how he'd thrown her out four years ago still stung and whenever she recalled his words or his demeanour a part of her recoiled at the mere idea of putting herself in a vulnerable position regarding him. It didn't matter that she had reasoned out, a long time ago, that he had probably done what he did for her in a distorted way, because he thought himself a monster and such. What bothered her was the fact that he had made a choice unilaterally, without any sort of input from her. He had chosen for both of them, regardless of what she thought and wanted and a part of her was still terrified he'd do it again, in a second. She wasn't willing to tolerate that. No one decided her fate but her.

The man who had kissed her goodbye at the library, however, seemed so different, changed. He hadn't pushed, hadn't manipulated but rather had laid the decision at her feet, and he had kept his word. He gave her space and went out of his way not to pressure her in any way. And some days, while he was all understanding and patient it was very hard not to throw him against the nearest flat surface and have her way with him.

There was so much about Malcolm she missed, so much she knew she would never get anywhere else. She was quite sure she'd never love anyone as much, but even that wasn't enough. With Mary Margaret's case all wrapped up she knew that soon she'd run out of excuses to justify spending time with him and she'd have to make a choice.

"Well, someone's not very happy today." Sheriff Swan's voice startled her out of her heavy thoughts and Belle mustered a small smile for the blonde "Got a lot on your mind?"

She shrugged.

"Well, the Library opened up without a hitch, so I've taken some time to look through the rest of Adele's papers. Some of that legal stuff isn't as straightforward as I'd wish."

Emma grimaced, taking a bit of a pear she had on one hand while her eyes darted everywhere but at Belle.

"What is it? Is there a problem? Is Mary Margaret okay?"

The school teacher, as far as she'd heard, was free and happy, but Madame Mayor was not one to remain idle for long. The sheriff sighed, throwing the remains of the pear on a nearby trashcan before taking a deep breath.

"A week ago, while putting the last of the research I did for Mary Margaret's case I stumbled across a set of documents that seemed to suggest that there had been a plan to involve Mrs Shoeman in the charity scandal. All lies of course, but had the case for Mary Margaret not fallen apart she could have gone after the assets you inherited next. Now it doesn't seem very feasible."

Belle hadn't seen that one coming, for all she knew Regina, so she took a moment to process it, letting the initial burst of fear pass before speaking.

"But... But you say that now it's not likely that she'll pursue this?"

Emma nodded, flashing her a reassuring smile.

"A lot of the case she forged against Adele was dependant on Mary Margaret's case generating a conviction. With a lot of evidence discredited it's unlikely she'll risk framing someone a second time, not when she has even less phony evidence than before. I wasn't even going to tell you, actually. It isn't worth it to worry you with it."

"Well, I'm glad you told me. I hate for people to make decisions to protect me without my knowledge or consent."

Emma grimaced, seemed torn for a second and then made a decision.

"Look, Belle, Gold talked me into telling you. Demanded it, actually, and I got the feeling I wasn't supposed to tell you he all but threatened me to 'fess up to you. I've been watching you two, mostly cause I feel that the moment I take my eyes off of Gold he'll do something highly unethical and illegal, and I can tell there's something going on. I hope that me telling you this helped."

Hardly knowing what to say, and still very unused to someone not talking about her relationship with Malcolm with outright disapproval Belle merely nodded, returning Emma's awkward smile before parting ways with her. Her mind scrambled to figure out where Malcolm would be, quickly turning towards the pawnshop. When she saw the "Closed" sign she bit back a growl, realizing it was rent day.

"Of course it had to be the one day of the month Mal's not at his shop or at home."

He could be anywhere, really, so she grabbed her cell phone and dialled his number. It took four rings for him to pick up.

"Hello?"

"I love you."

For a long moment there was silence on the other side of the line and Belle wanted to take it back. She should've waited to say it in person, like he had, should've just asked him where he was and...

"Say it again."

His voice was breathless and strangely high-pitched and she couldn't help but smile at the eagerness of it.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. Now if you tell me where you are I can tell you in person."

He told her he was just passing Granny's so she headed in that direction, incapable of hanging up the phone even if she was but five minutes away.

"You're sure. About this, I mean. Completely sure?"

She was. Sure and brave and ready. And so was he.

"Yes. Completely."

"Good, good," she could tell he was smiling from his tone alone, that shy, genuine smile he reserved for Bae and her "And you're okay with people eventually knowing?"

She reassured him over and over again, her heart skipping a beat when she spotted him near the entrance to Granny's. He was wearing the gentlest expression on his face, and the certainty that she was doing the right thing washed over her.

"We'll have to think of a way to ease people into this, something more like we planned a long time ago," he kept talking on the phone, babbling really, and it was adorable "We'll have to keep our distance in public for a while, and think carefully about..."

She snapped her phone shut, reaching out and doing the same to his once she was close enough.

"Or you could just kiss me senseless. If I'm not mistaken both Nurse Richards and Mrs Spring are inside the diner and they are the biggest gossips in town."

A devilish smile spread across his face and he wasted no time grabbing her by the waist and pressing her against him.

"I believe your idea has more merit."

A second later is mouth was on hers, and nothing else seemed to matter.


	6. Bae's Epilogue

Bae woke up to the sound of his papa's laughter, which made him smile. The days papa was happy enough to laugh were always the best, and he couldn't wait to find out what it was. He carefully got out of bed, still leery about his leg even months after the cast had been removed. He clutched Nick close, knowing he'd like to see what the news were, and then slipped his feet into his shark-shaped slippers.

He as he trotted down the stairs, following the sound of his mama's lilting voice, he thought about how nicer life had gotten once mama had gone to live with them. She had brought flowers and sweets into the house, as well as music, and Bae had discovered he liked dancing around the living room with his mama while his papa laughed and gave him pointers. After that his mama would usually kneel next to him, messily kiss his cheek and call him "a little life-ruiner". It sounded rather cool.

His papa loosened up quite a bit, but he still seemed to enjoy scaring people every now and then, but they were mostly bad people who usually yelled a lot, including the big man that was supposed to be his mama's papa. He'd heard him say once very loudly that he was not her son and shouldn't waste her time raising another woman's mistake. That time it had been her the one to bare her teeth and drive him away before crying silently. He'd offered Nick to console her, cause his friend was cuddly and soft and usually put him in a much better mood, but she had cuddled him instead, and that had been fine too. Later his papa had praised him for being such a good boy for his mama and when Bae had spotted the glimmer in his eyes he'd known the bad, fat man had been taken care of. And he'd smiled that sort of strange, manic grin his papa sported some times. It made him feel sort of like a shark, so it was good.

Then they had the big party meant to let everyone know his mama was his, well, his and papa's, and he'd gotten a nice suit and gel in his hair. He'd danced with Ava, who'd gotten all prettied-up and tidy for once and was not constantly taking care of her brother and it had been really weird in a good way. Ava was like his mama, only in a different way and made his hands clammy. She also liked that he was really good at math even though he wasn't as good in sports.

Mama had been lovely in something called a "mermaid" dress (though it didn't have a tail, he looked) all white and lacy. His papa had taken him to a place called "jewellers" were they had pretty shiny things girls liked and had him pick out a nice necklace so mama would have "something new", which had seemed to be important.

Ever since the big party mama had always been with them, stroking his head when he'd had a tummy ache, holding his hand on the waiting room at the dentist's, dragging his papa out of his big office when he got caught up in work and even making snow angels with him. And every time a nosey kid told him she was not really his mama he'd just reply they were jealous his mama was prettier than their old, mean-looking moms, and then quietly arrange for their favourite sweater to fall into the mud or for their snacks to go missing for a week. Once, when he couldn't do anything and had been very sad about it Ava had punched the little girl in the face. Alexandria Herman had never again even looked at him.

He was aware of the gossip, though, and not just from other kids. The adults would whisper it too. They would talk about how young and pretty his mother was, which was true, and how mean and scary his papa was (which was also sort of true) and then would shake their heads and say it wouldn't last. They'd talk about age, about "scandal" (he figured whatever that was had broken them up that one time years ago) and about his mama one day seeing reason and "dumping his papa's sorry ass".

He knew better, though. He'd seen them dance around each other when mama had come back, had seen them doubt and worry and trip. But he'd also seen them find each other again, make each other happier than they'd ever been before. No one in the world knew his parents as well as he did, though others thought they did. He saw them in the most scared, or sad, or happy. He saw them when they weren't pretending to anyone else, and knew that many things could happen in his life, but his parents separating wouldn't be one of them.

"Morning!" he greeted, letting his mama ruffle his hair and murmur something about cutting it.

"Hey, Bae." his papa patted his hair down after his mama had messed it up and then helped his mama reach for a bowl of cereal. She was awfully short.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting on his favourite chair. His papa was wearing slacks and a white shirt, which usually meant a boy's day out.

"Well, son, I thought we might go to the aquarium today. It's a long ride, but it's a nice day and you did very well in school according to you report card."

Bae squealed, nearly sending cereal flying all over the place and wolfed down his breakfast, eager to get dressed so they could leave. He put on his favourite t-shirt, one with an image of a mean-looking hammer-head shark and instructed Nick very sternly to hold down the fort. He raced downstairs only to find his mama by the front door, apparently waiting for his papa to find his car keys amidst the usual clutter of the house. He laid his head against her tummy, trying to feel the usual kick that indicated his little sister was awake.

"You're going to love the aquarium Rose, it's the bestest place ever. When you finally come out I promise I'll make mama and papa take us again so you can see all the cool animals, but when you get big enough so it's not dangerous. And I'll teach you their names and we'll get papa to buy you a t-shirt with your favourite fish like I have."

He patted his mama's heavy belly, grinning when Rosie patted back from the inside. He couldn't wait to meet her.


End file.
